


Four Chambers

by GilliganGoodfellow



Series: Jaskier’s Monster [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anger, Banter, Big Brother Lambert, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Don't mess with the Cat School, E is for Chapter 5, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Execution, F/M, First Time, Gilligan writes a sex scene and disaster ensues, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lambert vs a Rock Troll named Pebbles, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Touch-Starved, pappa vesemir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: Lambert remembers Aiden during key moments in their relationship(Set in the same canon divergance AU as Jaskier's Monster, but stand alone)
Relationships: Aiden & Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Chireadan/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Lambert/Keira Metz
Series: Jaskier’s Monster [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606360
Comments: 149
Kudos: 154





	1. The Shrine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassijade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassijade/gifts).



> This story is stand alone, but is set in the same universe as Jaskier's Monster (so will be a weird mixture of game and tv "verse" mixing and swapping) because I've written in that verse for so long that some of the characters are THAT for me now, as much as I love the other verses <3 <3
> 
> You can thank cassijade for inspiring this new WIP <3

**Toussaint, 1274**

The homestead is a small plot of land about an hour from Corvo Bianco. Suitable for the farming of herbs that Keira Metz favours in her studies, and Lambert is rarely short of work in the surrounding settlements.

Keira is quick to make her stamp on the place. Fine furniture, draperies, and a well stocked alchemy lab.

For Lambert there is a room of tools for the maintenance of weapons and armour, and an area in the yard for training. 

In the corner of the alchemy lab, there is equipment for...as Keira words it…Lambert’s ‘experiments with fermentation.’

And...in the hallway at the top of the stairs, opposite a window with a view of the valley, there is something else. 

Keira doesn’t say anything about it. She waits for Lambert to find it when he returns from his latest contract, already removing his armour as he climbs the stairs...and the shoulder plate is dropped at an angle that has it banging on each step on its way back down.

Shining in the gentle light from the window, the cat school medallion hangs from a hook on the wall. The table below holds a dish with green gems, and on either side of this rests a sword, one silver, one steel, leant against the wall.

“You found it.” Keira says, genuinely delighted. “Jaskier advised on the contents. The swords are symbolic. Just something I was able to find in Beauclair. We can replace them for better if you feel they are not suitable.”

“What…what is this?” Lambert touches the medallion, then looks at her. 

“Well it’s a shrine, of course. For Aiden.”

Lambert shakes his head. “We shouldn’t...”

“Whyever not, dear?”

“It shouldn’t be here.”

“Nonsense.” Keira scolds. “I know how important he was to you…”

“No.” Lambert takes the medallion off of the hook. “I don’t want you to feel like a replacement.” He looks at her, and rests a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not a replacement. You’re not plan B, you’re not...you're here and he's gone”

“Stop being _silly_ .” Keira rests her hand on his. “He's not _gone_ , and he shouldn't be. He's in there.” She looks at his chest. At his heart. 

Her expression softens as she takes the medallion from him, studying it. 

“The heart has four chambers, Lambert.” She places her hand with the cat school medallion against his chest. “I'm not a replacement. I'm just in the next chamber. Me and Aiden are side by side. Do you understand?” 

Lambert slowly nods, and Keira moves to rest her head against his shoulder. 

“You loved him. Never hide him from your life. Especially not on my account.”

Lambert nods again, wrapping his arms around her.

“Tell me about him. Please.” 

“Where do I begin?” His voice is just above a whisper.

“The beginning, silly.” She smiles, and looks up at him. “Tell me how you two met.”

“Same way I discovered you.” He nods. “Aiden saved my life.”

* * *

* * *

**Ellander, 1229**

There is a blissful moment upon awakening when Lambert’s thoughts are quiet, empty. There is pain but it feels distant, like a memory of agony instead of the feeling itself. Or like he knows he should be hurting, but isn’t awake enough to acknowledge it. 

He can smell meat cooking. Smoke. 

He can hear the fire. He can hear a whetstone running alongside a blade again. And again. And again.

He is exhausted. He feels darkness claim his mind. 

* * *

There is a blissful moment upon awakening when Lambert’s thoughts are quiet, empty. He can hear fire. He tries to turn his head and _no_. The fire he can hear is now behind his eyes. His neck. Shoulders. Sharp pain that grits his teeth and tenses his jaw, waves upon waves that won’t end and for a moment he’s eight years old and they’ve just added the speargrass sap.

“Lay still. Just deep breaths.” The hurried voice is coming through water. 

Who? What? He’s blind. _No_. No, his eyes are shut. He opens them but everything is a blur that stabs and he feels sick. He’s going to be. He coughs. 

He feels himself being turned onto his side and he cries out, pain everywhere as he coughs bile onto the bedroll. Tears come to his face and he closes his eyes, in more pain as he coughs. He curls in on himself, he can’t help it. His legs are in the fire. He can’t.

“Shh. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

It’s not alright. He coughs, vomits, chokes. He has to get away. He has to…

The nausea finally fades, and he stays on his side, panting, the stench of vomit in his nostrils until he is gently lifted. He cries out again as he is carried and lowered to another bedroll, a hand on his shoulder and hip as he lays on his side. 

“Don’t move.” The voice is stronger now, demanding, and the hands leave. 

Lambert is powerless to fight. He is as weak as the kittens his father used to drown. 

As he lays still the pain goes back to being an echo. Back to being on the edge of the arena, ready to attack but leaving him alone all the time he is still. So still. So…

...Lambert can’t move. He can’t risk even twitching. The pain is in the shadows, the thumping sound of a cane against the table as his father forces him to bend over.

A pillow is rested beneath his head. No, not just a pillow. He...he’s in someone’s lap. 

Shit. 

He feels the touch on his arm. _No_. They can touch him. They can hurt him. They can do anything here...Lambert’s as powerless now as when against his father’s cane. As when he was strapped to the table for the trial of the grasses.

They can hurt him. They will hurt him. Break his arm. He...

The tips of gentle fingers run over the bare skin, from shoulder to elbow and back again. Over and over. 

Over and over. 

And he is eight years old, and Eskel is sitting beside his bed, a hand stroking up and down his arm. 

_“You did it, kid.”_ Eskel says in the dream. _“You survived. You’re one of us now.”_

“There you go. Shhh.” The new voice is male, the accent softer than Eskel’s accent, and well spoken. “Gentle your breathing, my new friend. I’m afraid that Ogre did quite a bit of damage, but you’ll be fine soon. Sleep through it if you can.” The hand stills. “You’re perfectly safe, I assure you. I only kill for coins.” A chuckle, and the hand pats his shoulder before sliding away. 

The blanket is pulled over him.

* * *

There is a blissful moment upon awakening when Lambert’s thoughts are quiet, empty. He is more aware this time, and while there is pain, it is not as bad as before. 

He is laid in a half sitting position on a bedroll, his head and shoulders against what feels like a mixture of saddle bags and blankets. He can feel that his long hair has been freed from the band that normally holds it back. 

He risks opening his eyes again to see the witcher, it is definitely a fellow witcher, looking down at him. He looks older than Lambert’s meagre twenty nine years, which is to say that he has a fair share of faded scars. Black hair frames a large forehead, the handsome face beardless save for sideburns, with a well kept moustache. 

He’s not from the wolf school, but if he is wearing a medallion then it is hidden under his shirt.

Out of instinct, Lambert reaches for his own medallion. Still there under the blanket, settled against his chest. Something that is his. That he earned. That makes him strong.

The other Witcher smiles. “I would not steal such a thing from you, my new friend.” He rests a hand on his patient’s forehead. “You must be thirsty. Here.”

Lambert feels a cup against his lip, but he holds them closed. This refusal is the one bit of power that he has left.

“If I wanted to harm you I would hardly need to resort to poison now, would I?” The witcher scolds gently, holding the cup against his lips again. “Drink up.”

Lambert keeps his mouth closed.

“Well we _are_ a stubborn little wolf aren’t we.” The Witcher teases, and makes a sign with his hands.

Lambert’s mind falls into...he...wait? No. _NO_. What? 

“Drink this. It is water.”

Lambert doesn’t know anything except that he is calm, safe, and he needs to drink from the cup that the witcher is holding. Just drink from the cup. 

Clear, warm water enters his mouth and throat, soothing. He can feel it trickling down into his torso, and he can’t help sighing.

“What is your name?”

“Lambert.” He knows only that he must answer.

“Of?”

“Maribor.”

“Lambert of Maribor.” The Witcher smiles. “Aiden of Eysenlaan, at your service. Here, this is broth. Drink it.” Another cup, the contents salty. Lambert feels his stomach clench as he takes his fill, not realising how hungry he had been. 

The axii wears off as the broth is taken away, and Lambert feels the sense of anxiety return. But he still doesn’t dare to move. 

“Why?”

“I apologise?” Aiden says, sincerely. “I’m not a fan of axii. It invites habits I would rather not develop. But I’m afraid I’ve put too much effort into keeping you alive to let you die of stupidity, my new friend.”

“Why?” Lambert mutters again. “What do you want?”

“Well, I want to kill the Ogre that threw you out of a fifth storey window.” Aiden smiles. “As to why I am helping you? I like to collect favours. And you now owe me a favour. So, Lambert of Maribor, care to help me hunt an ogre?” His smile widens. “Obviously not right this second.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, we are feisty aren’t we.” Aiden says. “I like that.” His eyebrows raise for a moment. 

Lambert doesn’t return the smile, and Aiden’s expression softens. 

“I’m _not_ going to hurt you.” Aiden says, firmly. “Nor will I expect anything from you that you don’t want to give. I apologise again for using axii. I won’t take control from you again, not unless the alternative is your death.” He rests his hand against the back of Lambert’s hand. “I assure you, you are safe with me.” 

He reaches round, and pulls a dagger from the sheath on his belt, pressing the hilt against Lambert’s hand. 

“If I try anything, you have that.”

The witcher stands, picking up the holdall with Lambert’s swords and resting it alongside the injured witcher’s bedroll. That done, he sits cross legged on the ground, and waves his hand. 

A Quen bubble forms around Lambert and the swords, a bubble with Aiden on the outside, looking in. 

“Rest, Lambert of Maribor.” Aiden says, quietly. “I will never harm you, I promise.”

Lambert clutches the dagger against his chest, and he has nothing to fight the exhaustion with anymore.

He knows that Aiden wants his help, and so won't hurt him yet. So, despite everything, he feels safe enough to sleep.

* * *

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

“He always knew how to make people feel safe.”

Keira nods.


	2. Eyes

**Toussaint, 1274**

“Jaskier suggested something green.” Keira says. “Aiden’s favourite colour I assume.”

Lambert nods, stroking a finger over the small gems in the bowl. “These must have been expensive.”

“I bought three, then pretty much exhausted my chaos for the month. But worth it for that smile.”

Lambert only then realises that he is smiling. He looks down, shrugging. 

“He um...yeah. Aiden liked green.” He chuckles. “And toffee apples.”

* * *

* * *

**Oxenfurt, 1231**

The lively market place is a cacophony of shouting merchants, screaming and laughing children, running feet and instruments.

“Well this was a wonderful idea.” Aiden quips, eyes hidden by a medicinal blindfold as Lambert guides him through the busy market, noticing just in time the puddle on the floor and gently pulling his friend so that he walks right through it. 

Aiden chuckles, shaking one foot, then the other. Then takes a deep breath through his nose.

He smiles and tugs on Lambert’s cloak. “Someone is selling toffee apples.”

“What are you, five?”

“Give or take fifty three.”

Lambert keeps walking. 

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’m wounded.” Aiden moans, lightly. “Blind and helpless. I need the sense of healing and comfort that only a sweet treat can bring.”

Lambert huffs. “You  _ are _ five.”

They walk on.

“Still angry, I see.”

“You won’t  _ see _ until at least lunchtime tomorrow.” Lambert snaps. “And you’re a fucking idiot. Pre-trial  _ trainees  _ know to dodge a Water Hag’s attack.”

“A Water Hag is  _ very  _ fast.” He turns to ‘look’ in Lambert’s direction. “And  _ you _ were supposed to throw the Yrden.”

“ _ I _ was distracted by the FIVE DROWNERS.” Lamberts holds up five fingers, then realises his folly. He growls, and lowers his hand. “Fuck.”

“Buy me dinner first.” He smiles. “It could be a toffee apple.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, and tugs Aiden forward with only some gentleness. 

The older Witcher hisses through his teeth as his foot collides painfully with stone.

“There’s a step there.”

“Thank. You. So much.” Aiden shakes his head and let’s Lambert lead him up the steps to the tavern.

The inside of the building is quiet, which is not surprising. Most of the usual patrons are outside enjoying a sunny afternoon after a morning of torrential rain. The few who do remain sit at various tables, save for a lone merchant who moves from customer to customer with a tray of beads. 

Each sitting patron regards Lambert and his friend in turn, with gazes that range from indifference to looks that make Lambert envy Aiden’s blindfold. 

Ignoring the harsh looks and harsher whispers, his armour against both having long since thickened, Lambert guides Aiden...gently this time...around the tables and chairs to a small, private alcove in one corner of the room. 

After a moment, a reluctant barmaid who probably drew the short straw brings them a tray, from which Lambert takes two ales. He puts the mugs on the table and places coins on the tray. The barmaid walks on, and Lambert grabs Aiden’s hand with both of his own, wrapping it around the mug. 

“Ale.” He says, shortly. 

Aiden nods. “Thank you.”

An uncomfortable silence falls upon the table as the Witchers each sip their drinks. 

“Can I interest you in my wares, good sirs.” The merchant comes to their table, lowering her tray. 

“No.” Lambert says immediately. 

“What are you selling?” Aiden says. 

Lambert recognises the challenge in Aiden’s tone. 

_ Fuck you _ . He thinks.

“Oh, begging your pardon, Witcher.” She says. “Injured fighting a monster?”

“Yes. But don’t worry. My eyes will recover. And then I can admire my purchase. What are you selling?”

“I am selling beads, Witcher. Perfect for a lovely ladies necklace, perhaps.” She looks from Aiden to Lambert.

“I’m good.” Lambert says, dismissively. 

“Are any of them green?” Aiden asks, ‘looking’ somewhere between the merchant and the table. 

“Why yes, Witcher.” She says. “A dark green like a wine bottle.”

“I’ll have three green, please. And...” He looks roughly in Lambert’s direction. “...what colour are your eyes.”

Lambert squints. “Amber?”

“Beneath the mutations.”

“I...don’t remember.” Lambert shrugs, looking away. 

Aiden smiles, leaning towards the sound of the merchant’s voice. “Do you think he looks brown or blue?”

“I would say brown.” She smiles.

“Three brown as well then, please.” He holds out his hand, and accepts the six beads before holding out his coin bag. “Thank you.”

“That’s very generous, Witcher. Take three more? They are already paid for.”

Aiden shakes his head. “Thank you.”

Lambert sighs as the Merchant walks off.

“I gave her the small bag, right?”

“No.” Lambert shakes his head. “And that was a complete fucking waste of coin.”

“Oh, nothing beautiful is ever a waste of coin, my dear wolf.”

“You can’t even see them.”

“I will tomorrow.” Aiden moves the beads around the table, as if able to watch his movement. “Besides, I like green. Reminds me of being a child.” He smiles. “When I was five years old and ate toffee apples.”

“Colour of your eyes.” Lambert says.

Aiden smiles, and nods. 

“How did you become a Witcher?”

“My parents sold me to the caravan.”

Silence.

“Oh don’t give me that look I know you’re giving me.” Aiden scolds. “They had eight mouths to feed and I was a troublemaker. They could have just left me on the street to starve. Or worse. They were at least kind enough to give me a chance.”

“Kind?”

“How about you?” Aiden sits back. “How did little Lambert end up in Kaer Morhen?”

“Law of Surprise.”

“Ah, the golden oldie.” Aiden smiles, and seeks out one of the beads, tapping it. “Take the brown ones? I got them for you.”

“I’m not interested in remembering my childhood.”

“But you _were_ a child, once.” Aiden says. “That’s what I like remembering. That I was a child, before all this Witcher nonsense. I was and am human. I am not, at my core, the monster that they want me to be.”

Lambert sits back in his chair. “Good for you.”

“Now now.” Aiden leans forward. “You’re a good man, Lambert. You wouldn’t be pissed off with me right now if you weren’t.”

“Being furious with you makes me a good person?”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t care.” Aiden said, matter of factly. 

“You’re giving me way too much credit.”

“Okay.  _ You _ tell me why you walked me through three puddles on the way here.”

Lambert looks at the table, and takes one of the brown beads, rolling it between his fingers. “That Hag was targeting me.”

“Yes.”

“And you got in the way.”

“I countered the attack.” 

“You got in the way.”

“Well, you were distracted by the drowners.”

“It was stupid.”

“I apologise. Aiden’s voice becomes stern. “Next time I’ll remember what an ungrateful brat you are and I won’t bother.”

Lambert winces at the harsh tone, even though Aiden can’t see it. Maybe  _ because  _ Aiden can’t see it. 

“Look...I am grateful.”

“Oh?” Aiden says, clearly not believing him. 

Lambert looks at the bead, unable to make eye contact with Aiden in this mood even when he is blind. 

“When I was ten, I underwent the final trial.”

“Ten?” Aiden raises his eyebrows. “Then you couldn’t have been more than eight during the trial of the grasses?” 

“I was.”

“You must have shown great promise to be put through the trials so young.”

“Or they wanted to finish me off.” Lambert shrugs. “Well, for the final trial I was paired with another kid, my friend Voltehre. He was a couple of years older and...he said he’d protect me. He said, ‘don’t worry, Lambert. I’ll look after you.’ ‘And I’ll look after you.’ I said. And we set off.”

Aiden is silent, face sincere beneath the blindfold. 

“Partway through the trial, we stumbled across this old cyclops. Big fucking bastard he was, and he went at me with a club. Voltehre used quen, surrounded us both and...when the cyclops stumbled he used aard to push me away. He was still in the bubble. He told me to run. So I did.” Lambert closes his eyes “I thought he was behind me.”

Aiden nods, ‘looking’ down at the beads.

“When I realised he wasn’t following I ran back...and I found what was left.” Lambert swallows. “The cyclops was looking in another part of the cave for me so I just grabbed Voltehre’s medallion and I...I ran. I just ran.”

Lambert reaches into his pocket, pulling the medallion out and holding it in his hand. 

Aiden sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“ Voltehre stayed behind to cover my escape.” Lambert says, putting the medallion back. “And I promised myself that day that I’d never be in that position again. I’d never again let someone I care about get hurt... _ die _ ...for me.” Lambert looks down. “And today...”

“Lambert…”

“When that Hag hit you instead of me, and you went beneath the water...and now you’re hurt.”

After a long silence, Aiden leans forward. “I will recover. And in a heartbeat I would do this again tomorrow. Because when we’re on a contract together, I look after you.”

Lambert nods, then realises himself. “And I look after you.”

Aiden reaches out with his hand, and after a moment Lambert takes it, their fingers intertwining.

“Were you and Voltehre friends before the trial of grasses?”

“Yes.”

“What colour were his eyes?”

Lambert bites his lip. “Blue.”

Aiden nods. “The merchant offered us three more beads.”

Nodding, Lambert puts the brown bead back on the table, let’s go of Aiden’s hand, and stands. “You’ll be okay for five minutes?”

Aiden nods. “I'm going to try and find a staring contest to win.”

Lambert chuckles under his breath. “While I’m getting the beads...do you still want that apple.”

“Finally, some pity for the poor blind man.”

“Fuck no. I just want you to stop going on about it.”

Aiden smiles.

* * *

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

Reaching into his pocket, Lambert pulls out two beads, one brown and one blue, and places them in the bowl. 

“Being a Witcher, it’s easy to forget humanity. That we are human, deep down. That we were innocent children once. But Aiden never forgot. And he tried to never let me forget either.”


	3. You’re my friend

**White Orchard, 1232**

Over the years, Lambert gets to know his new travelling companion. One of the opinions he quickly forms is that Aiden, despite being as good as twice Lambert’s age, is unbearably childish. 

The man complains about scratches, demands rest stops every two hours, and the gods grant Lambert patience whenever they have to walk through the rain. 

There’s also the fact that Aiden seems to be of the opinion that physical contact is as vital to his health as food and drink. Be it a pat on the shoulder, a nudge with the elbow while talking, or sex.

It is no surprise, considering that the older man has the personal space instinct of a succubus, that Aiden will often disappear as soon as someone catches his interest. He seems to enjoy exploring a wide variety of sexual appetites. And as far as Lambert can deduce, Aiden’s preference in bed partners boils down to anyone of legal age who has a pulse.

Lambert finds all of the above infuriating. And...he also thinks that this is what he loves about Aiden. 

“So that beautiful blond thing over there is Rose.”

“Charmed.” Lambert mutters, while making a point of sorting through his gwent deck and not looking at either Aiden or the lady waiting for him at the tavern bar. 

“Rose has a friend named Lucy. And Rose and Lucy are both _very_ grateful to the witchers that sorted out the town’s little werewolf issue.”

“Alderman already paid us.”

“I’m not talking about coins.” Aiden raises his eyebrows. “Come on. Come have fun with me.”

Still not making eye contact, Lambert raises his gwent card. “I’m good.”

“Lambert, life doesn’t throw opportunities like this every day.”

Lambert tense, and shakes his head. 

“Oh.” Aiden’s voice goes quiet, and he sits down opposite Lambert at the table. “You have... _been_...with someone before?”

Lambert doesn’t look at him. 

“Awe. My sweet, innocent little wolf pup.” He taps Lambert’s cheek.

“Get fucked.” 

“I plan to.” He smiles. “You?”

Lambert slams one of the cards on the table, and continues sorting through the deck. “I just never got round to it, okay.”

“Because you’ve never found the right person, or because you find the idea itself uninteresting?”

Lambert shrugs.

“Or because you don’t like being touched.”

Lambert looks up at him this time, his expression oddly vulnerable. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you ever want to find some answers, do let me know.” The older man stands. “Until then, I have some generosity to experience. Will you be alright here by yourself for a few hours?”

Lambert gives him a half smile. “I’ll manage.”

Aiden doffs an imaginary hat, and turns away. 

“Aiden?”

The older man stops, turning back to face him. 

“Thanks...for not laughing.”

“You’re my friend.” Aiden winks, and crosses the bar to meet the waiting Rose.

Lambert looks back at his cards, but he isn’t really concentrating on the deck anymore. 

* * *

The shouts and jeers can be heard from the edge of the town, the mob causing it so stereotypical that Lambert is surprised that they aren’t carrying pitchforks.

“Hang him. Hang him.” They scream in a sickening unison that echoes back from every wall. Next to Lambert, Aiden tenses.

The mob parts and three men are dragging a fourth between them, a rope already around the condemned man’s blood stained neck. His eyes are black with bruises, he coughs blood. Not a single piece of visible skin is free of wounds.

They throw the rope over a thick wooden beam connecting two buildings, and pull him up. He coughs. Splutters. Kicks the air as he is hanged. 

“What did he do?” Lambert asks one of the cheering townspeople.

“Forced himself onto the shepherd's daughter. The poor little lass.”

Lambert nods, crossing his arms. 

“We should go.” Aiden mutters.

“And miss the chance to see a monster getting slain?”

The condemned man’s legs slow, the hands that had been desperately clawing at the rope now falling to his side. Still alive, he is dropped again to the ground, where he disappears beneath a hailstorm of kicking legs, thrown stones and shouts.

“Come on.” Aiden’s voice is quiet. “Tavern is...that way.” 

“Why are you pale?” Lambert chuckles. “Damn bastard deserves it.”

“Yes.” Aiden nods. “Yes. Of course. Yes.” He opens the door to the tavern, and stands to one side to let Lambert through.

“Anyone here owe you a favour?” Lambert asks. 

“No.” Aiden shakes his head, his voice still quiet. “No, this room we are paying for, I’m afrai...” He gulps slightly, as if swallowing back vomit. 

“Aiden?” Lambert turns to look at him. “Are you hurt?”

“Tired from the road.” Aiden hits his shoulder. “I told you we should have stopped and rested at that river bank.”

Lambert stops him before he reaches the bar. “I’ll get the room. Wait here.”

“Thanks.”

Lambert’s gaze stays on his face for a moment, then he nods and goes to the bar. Behind him, Aiden sits down, his focus on the ground. 

Outside, they can still hear the crowd shouting. Jeering. 

Aiden closes his eyes, and swallows again. 

* * *

“No.” 

Lambert wakes quickly, eyes focusing on what small light comes through the window. What woke him?

“No!” Louder this time, and Lambert feels the blanket tighten as the man sleeping next to him kicks and claws at the sheets. “No...get...No…”

“Aiden?” He turns over. Aiden is laid on his side, curled up so tightly that it must hurt. He kicks, claws, shakes his head. There’s tears on his face, and Lambert can smell the saltiness in the air.

“Aiden?” He reaches over, gently shaking his friend’s shoulder.

The reaction is immediate. The aard blast seems to come out of nowhere, sending Lambert and two pillows flying across the room. He lands with a cry against the cupboard, coughing as the wind returns to his lungs. 

Using the aard at close range has thrown Aiden the other way, where he is now sat crouched, ready to strike, attack, hands clawing at his chest and neck as if looking for something. His medallion? No. No, it’s...it’s where a scarf would be. 

Or a hangman’s rope. 

“It wasn’t...I didn’t...I…”

Lambert and Aiden had long ago promised that they would only use axii if the alternative was the other Witcher dying, but Lambert is seriously considering breaking that promise as he slowly approaches Aiden, his voice the tone he would use to speak to a child. 

“It’s alright. It’s me, Lambert. There’s no one else here.”

Aiden’s hands rest around his neck in a choke hold, and he draws his knees to his chest, shaking his head as tears fall down his face. He starts to sob, his cheeks burning as he looks down. “No. Not here.”

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, there.” Lambert keeps his voice gentle. “Do you um...Eskel always said it helps to talk about them. I mean, that’s bullshit I always said but...you’re not me.”

Aiden scurries back slightly pressing himself into the corner of the room. 

Back and right protected. Now he only has to defend two sides.

He can hear the shouts. The jeers. The cries. 

“Hang him. Hang him.” Aiden whispers the words.

“Aiden, is this about that guy we saw getting…”

Aiden’s hands tighten around his throat in a...no, not a hold. A shield. Protection. 

“Aiden did that...did someone hurt you?”

Aiden’s breathing begins to pick up, exhales coming in gasps as he curls up tighter, leaning against the wall.

 _“The path may take you to victims of attacks.”_ Vesemir’s voice booms in Lambert’s mind. _“Minds are fragile. They can be overwhelmed by fear. As you learn to fight the physical monsters, learn also how to fight the mental ones. Torment. Upset. For these monsters you will not use your swords, but your voice. And...if the person is willing...your touch.”_

Lambert reaches forward, gently resting the tips of his fingers on Aiden’s knee. When the Witcher flinches, Lambert pulls away. 

“Aiden, it’s Lambert. I’m your friend. I’m here to look after you. Remember? When we’re on the road, I look after you, and you look after me.”

Aiden looks up, and when he doesn’t react Lambert reaches out and touches his knee again. After a moment one of Aiden’s hands, trembling, comes away from his throat, resting on his friend’s arm.

“Lambert?” He says the name as if it is a question. 

“Just us.” Lambert whispers as he moves closer, his hand moving from Aiden’s knee to lightly touch the cheek of his tear stained face. “That’s it, you’re coming out of it now, Aiden. Nothing here is going to hurt you. I’ll cut them first.”

Aiden’s eyes widen, his face goes red, and he falls onto his side facing the wall. 

Lambert puts a hand on his arm, but gets no reaction. Sitting back, he reaches behind him for one of the pillows that Aiden’s little aard experiment threw onto the floor, and quietly maneuvers it between Aiden’s head and the floor. With his friend comfortable, Lambert then sits back.

They are like that for maybe minutes, maybe hours, and Lambert briefly wonders if Aiden has fallen asleep. Then he hears his voice. 

“I had been on the path for less than a year.” Aiden mutters, still looking at the wall, as if telling the story to himself. Maybe he is. “A stupid, naive child. And I was hunting for a grave hag that had been bothering this small mountain town. While I was there, the children started getting sick. Vomiting. Shitting. Coughing. And...well, clearly the Witcher had cursed them.” Aiden spits the last few words, then takes a deep breath. 

“They dragged me to this tree in the middle of the town, and strung me up.” Aiden’s eyes are squeezed shut. “Just...I don’t care if that bastard we saw deserved it or not. I know what he was feeling. Helpless. Scared. All you can hear is people shouting. Jeering. Everyone wants you dead and no one is going to help. No one is there. And you’re so scared. So alone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

Aiden flinches, and curls in slightly. “Just before I passed out they cut me down. Started kicking, scratching. Some of it left scars.”

“How did you get away.”

“I didn’t.” The Witcher sighs. “The pellar in the village stopped them. Said if I died then every Witcher in the continent would curse them. Best to leave me in the woods for the ghouls. So they rode me out to the middle of a ditch and threw me in.

“I don’t know how long I laid there.”

“Aiden.” 

Aiden sits up, his breathing shaky. “Lambert...I...I know you don’t...like being touched...I know...but...just…just for a minute?”

Lambert smiles, opening his arms. “Come here.”

Needing no more invitation than that, Aiden throws himself at the other Witcher, curling against his chest as Lambert envelops the older man in his arms, rocking him out of instinct.

“I’m sorry.” Lambert whispers. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have lingered at the execution.”

“Not your fault.” Aiden whispers, closing his eyes.

“I’m a bastard.”

“Yes, but it makes you honest.” Aiden smiles. “I love that about you.”

Lambert swallows, looking down at Aiden. “Love?”

But there’s no answer, because the other man has fallen into an exhausted sleep. And that...Lambert bites his bottom lip. 

Aiden feels safe enough to sleep, curled up in Lambert’s arms, as if that was all he needed to chase away his demons. Just to be held by his friend. 

And Lambert hates touch. A childhood of pain and torment has left its mark. But this contact he welcomes. He welcomes it with an instinct or maybe a memory of his mother long faded by time that has him bringing his hand up to stroke through Aiden’s black hair, that makes him rock backwards and forwards on the ground. 

And knowing that he knows how to do this. That he can comfort and soothe. Help Aiden fall asleep. It is a sense of power and confidence that Lambert has never felt before in his young life. 

And he feels it now because of this crazy, annoying man who complains constantly about little things. Who collects objects the colour of his eyes. Who likes toffee apples and sweet rolls. Who turns down poor people’s gold in favour of...well favours. Favours collected across the continent.

This crazy, annoying man who nursed a complete stranger back to health just so that he could share his ogre killing contract. 

And become his friend in the process.

This crazy, annoying man who finally, after twenty two years, allows Lambert to forgive Voltehre. Because now Lambert knows that if Aiden was facing a cyclops, Lambert would jump right in between them. 

For the first time in his life, sat on a cold wooden floor with a sleeping Witcher held against his chest, Lambert thinks that he understands love. 

And he knows, with an alien but confident certainty, that he would die for Aiden. He would kill for him. He would...he would do anything, be anything.

He can _become_ anyone. He is strong enough now. 

“I love you too.” He whispers, quietly. 

* * *

Lambert lets Aiden sleep in, so it is nearly midday when they leave the tavern, the cat witcher pale and quiet behind him. 

What remains of the condemned man is impaled on a pike at the main entrance to the town, so Lambert turns his friend to another, smaller path.

“Here.” He reaches into his bag, and pulls out a leather wrap. Inside is a small collection of sweet apple pieces that Lambert had been able to purchase from the kitchens that morning, and Aiden gives him a small smile before he starts to pick away at them.

“I checked the noticeboard.” Lambert says. “Some strange mist settled near the Amavet fort. Sounds like Foglets. If you’re feeling up to it.”

Aiden nods. “Been a while since we’ve fought those.”

“Worried you might be rusty, old man.”

Lambert laughs as Aiden playfully hits his shoulder, but then the witcher stops walking. 

“Look, Lambert. Last night?”

“What about it?”

“I just...thank you, for not laughing.”

Lambert shrugs. “You’re my friend.”

As they continue to walk, Lambert raises his arm, smiling when the still clearly fragile witcher slips under it, and rests against his shoulder.

Lambert stops himself just short of kissing Aiden’s forehead, but the fact that he wants to is something that stays in his thoughts all the way to Amavet.


	4. Ready

**Toussaint, 1274**

Keira gives Lambert a small smile, her hand resting on his arm. “Do you want to be alone for a while?”

Lambert nods, and she returns the gesture, before kissing his cheek.

“I’ll be in the lab.” She brushes a hand down his arm, stopping when Lambert gently grabs it, giving it a light squeeze. All the time, his gaze never leaves the medallion. 

“Talk to him.” Keira whispers before going down the stairs.

Now alone, Lambert rests his hands on the edge of the bowl of green gems.

“I look after you, and you look after me.” Lambert smiles. “My first time. You looked after me.”

* * *

* * *

**Inn at the Crossroads, Velen, 1233**

“You will hunt rabbit, deer, fucking kikimora I do not mind. But you are  _ not _ to return to  _ this  _ tavern until the sun is six hours past the midpoint.” Aiden points at said sun, which is currently an hour short of said midpoint. “Try to come back before that, and the aard blast will land you in Kovir.”

“What are you planning?”

“It is a surprise.” Aiden says, crossing his arms. “Go.”

“Aiden?”

“ _ Go _ .”

“Alright.” Lambert raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “See you at six pm.”

Aiden nods, and goes into the tavern.

Standing alone in the middle of the road, his back on the inn, Lambert suddenly feels the way he felt before fighting his first monster on the path. Anxious...determined...unsure.

He knows what this is.

Tonight.

It is going to be tonight.

Aiden is getting the room ready for tonight.

* * *

Three days ago, Lambert told Aiden that he was...curious. That he wanted to...find his answers.

Aiden slowly nodded, poking at the campfire with a stick, before turning to look at Lambert.

“I don’t know why I’ve made it such a big deal.” Lambert said. “I mean, it’s just sex.”

“It’s not  _ just _ anything. And of course it is a big deal,  _ if _ it is a big deal for you. Which it clearly is.” Aiden reached out, taking Lambert’s hand. “So. As it happens, I know a very  _ very _ lovely lady in Lindenvale who owes me a favour, and who specialises in creating  _ magical _ first experiences.” Aiden winked. “We could travel there...”

“No.” Lambert looked down. “I meant…” He looked at Aiden, and then down at his own crossed legs.

Aiden looked left, and then right. “Oh.”

Lambert pulled his hand from Aiden’s, and brushed imaginary dirt off of his knees, violently.

The campsite was silent save for the crackling fire, and eventually Lambert, calmer now, turned to look at the other Witcher. 

Aiden was smiling like all of his yuletides had come at once. 

“You would do me a great honour, my friend.” He said, bowing slightly in his seated position. “But not tonight.”

Lambert let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

“Patience.” Aiden took Lambert’s hand again. “You want to give me the gift of your first time?” 

Lambert nodded.

“Then I don’t plan to squander it.” Aiden raised his eyebrows. “I ask for a few days grace. I want to ensure that it is  _ exactly  _ what you deserve.”

“And what’s that?”

Aiden squeezed Lambert’s hand. “Perfection.”

* * *

If Lambert spends most of his last few hours of waiting sat in the field outside the Crossroads, trying to meditate (badly because relaxation is the last thing on his mind) he will never admit to it. 

He stands as the sixth hour begins, hands held as fists at his side as he berates himself. “This is  _ nothing _ . You are a Witcher. You fight monsters. Why is  _ this _ the thing that is scaring you?”

But Lambert is scared. He won’t deny that. 

It’s not the sort of scared that makes him want to run away. He would be halfway to Novigrad by now if it was. But it is a fear that makes him conscious of everything. He looks over his shoulder, swallows the taste of a dry mouth. Fidgets at the edge of his clothes. 

What if he hates it?

What if  _ Aiden _ hates it? 

He’s not sure which scares him more.

What if he does something wrong?

What if he hates it?

What if Aiden hates it? 

He’s not sure which scares him more.

He needs to punch something, so he slams his fist into his own hand. The jolt of anger  _ flies _ through him, and he does it again. Again.

He shakes the pain from the receiving hand, takes a deep breath, and makes his way towards the inn. 

He asked for this. And Aiden has prepared for this. He isn’t going to disappoint Aiden. 

What if Aiden hates it? 

He isn’t having second thoughts. He isn’t having doubts. 

He’s just…

What if Aiden hates it? 

Aiden is standing by the door to the inn, dressed in the clothing he wears beneath his armour. “Good day?”

“Didn’t catch anything.”

“The inn has plenty.” Aiden rests a hand just above Lambert’s right cheek, and it is a moment before Lambert realises that Aiden is waiting for permission.

He nods, and Aiden’s hand rests against Lambert’s cheek, a gentle thumb stroking the skin below his eye.

“How are you feeling?” Aiden asks. “Any questions?”

Lambert doesn’t respond.

“You’re allowed to have questions.” Aiden says. “I had so many my first time. Should I urinate first. That was one.” Aiden chuckles. “Another one was does it hurt.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ll be gentle. But if at any point you need me to stop, for  _ any _ reason, just say so and I promise I will.” Aiden drops his voice to a whisper. “And if you get overwhelmed, you have your axii.”

“But…”

“I’m removing the rule tonight.” Aiden says, firmly. “For you. If you feel unsafe. If you feel afraid or hurt, or even if you just need a moment to breathe, you have my permission to use axii. But I ask that you promise to use it to  _ stop  _ me from doing something, and nothing else..”

Lambert nods.

“Say it…”

“I promise.”

Aiden nods. “More than anything tonight, I want you to feel safe.” His fingers brush Lambert’s lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Really? Everything Aiden has planned tonight, and he asks for permission to do  _ that _ ?

Lambert slowly nods, and closes his eyes as Aiden puts his hands on either side of the younger witcher’s face, leaning forward and giving Lambert his first romantic kiss.

Aiden smiles against Lambert’s mouth as, in the yard, the tavern children giggle and whisper over their hopscotch game while watching the kiss.

Still smiling, Aiden leans back, looking into Lambert’s eyes. “I’m already so happy. How are you?”

Lambert licks his lips. “I’m okay.”

Aiden nods “Do you want to sit at a table for a while, talk about things?”

Lambert wants to say yes, and also no. He knows Aiden wants to go to the room. And Lambert has permission to use axii if he needs it. And Aiden asked about  _ kissing _ him! So surely he’ll ask about everything else.

That means Lambert is in control here. He is...protected. He feels safe.

He feels safe.

“Can we talk in the room?”

“Of course.” Aiden nods.

“Then the room.”

Aiden smiles, and takes his hand. “You’re sure?” His other hand holds Lambert’s chin so that he is looking Aiden directly in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Lambert.” Aiden lets go of his chin. “I meant what I said. I want this to be perfect for you, and if perfection means waiting a few more days before you to feel certain and safe, then I would gladly wait each hour. You deserve that. If you need that time, I won't be disappointed.”

Lambert nods, and smiles. “I feel safe now.”

Aiden returns the smile. “Then follow me, my wolf.”


	5. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm Gilligan and this is my first time writing a sex scene and I'm not nervous AT ALL
> 
> On that note, please see new rating *points*

**Inn at the Crossroads, Velen, 1233**

The room is filled with candles, forming a circle around the bed and, in the corner of the room, a bathtub filled with steaming water. 

A table of fruit is set up, with another candle in the middle. 

“Is it too much?”

Without making eye contact, Lambert raises his hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

Aiden chuckles, and rests a hand on Lambert’s back. “Bath first.”

He turns to face Lambert, his hands moving up to the straps holding his armour in place and then stopping like that. 

Lambert swallows. “What are you waiting for?”

Aiden smiles, and removes the armour, then Lambert’s shirt. At the same time Lambert, without really thinking about it, undoes the three buttons at the top of Aiden’s shirt and pulls it over his head, throwing it to one side.

Making eye contact with the younger man, Aiden smiles and slowly kneels, removing Lambert’s boots and then looking up, hands moving inch by inch to Lambert’s trousers and amber eyes never leaving Lambert’s own as he undoes the fastener, pulling the trousers down and encouraging Lambert to step out of them. 

Last is the smallclothes, done at the same speed and care as the trousers. And Lambert is standing completely naked in the room.

This should be familiar. They’ve shared campsites and early morning baths in rivers enough times. And yet, Lambert has never felt this exposed in front of Aiden. Because this _is_ different, as the other man’s eyes look him up and down, his smile growing wider when their eyes meet. 

“Beautiful.”

Lambert shakes his head, looking down.

“No praise?” Aiden says, nodding. “Alright. A shame, because you deserve it. But _you_ are in control.” Aiden smiles and then stands, waiting a moment before, when Lambert doesn’t move to take over, nodding and removing his own trousers and smallclothes. Now naked himself, he takes Lambert by the arm.

“I know the way.” Lambert says, pulling his arm away.

Aiden sighs, having learned long ago how to roll with Lambert’s verbal punches. And also acknowledging it for the sign of insecurity in his friend that it is. 

“Do you like what you see?” He says, changing the subject. 

Lambert’s eyes slowly look from Aiden’s face to his feet, lingering on certain areas. He bites his lips, and then nods.

Aiden nods towards the bath. “Come on then.”

This, bathing together, is familiar enough that Lambert slowly calms, concentrating on the act of getting clean, applying soap to Aiden’s back when he asks, and letting Aiden clean his own. When they are finished, Aiden climbs out first, taking a large towel from the four or five folded in the corner and holding it up for Lambert to step into. Then Aiden takes a towel for himself.

“Hungry?” Aiden asks when they have had time to dry. 

Lambert looks from the table to the bed, and then back to the table. 

Aiden nods, knowing the anxiety. Part of Lambert wants to face the unknown, the other wants to put it off for as long as possible. 

“Food will still be there afterwards.” He says, quietly making this one decision for his friend. 

“I’m ready.”

Aiden nods, reaching out to wrap his fingers around the edge of the towel at Lambert’s waist. “Any questions?”

“No.”

Aiden’s hand reaches up, tracing a circle in the middle of Lambert’s chest.

“Shhh. Get used to my touch. Let your body learn.”

“Learn?”

“When I was growing up, one of the older witchers, Gaetan, told me that our bodies have a memory of their own. Unconscious, but present. It’s that memory that we hone when we practice with our blade. It’s that memory that knows to flinch away from fire, or to shiver when we are cold. And our bodies can learn as we do, from their experiences.”

Lambert doesn’t look at him. 

“If a body learns that physical touch always leads to pain, then it flinches away from contact. It learns to avoid punches, and slaps, and scratches. To protect itself. But...if it learns the lesson too well, it learns to avoid gentle touches as well. Hugs. Caresses.”

Aiden moves to stand in front of Lambert, his hand raised and, when Lambert slowly nods, brought across to hover at the side of the Witcher's face, fingertips just barely tracing the outline of his jaw.

“See.” He strokes the delicate touch across Lambert’s lips, and down across his chin, and throat, before pulling his hand away. “Did that hurt?”

Lambert shakes his head. “No.”

Aiden removes his own towel, then takes Lambert’s hand in his, gently bringing it to rest against the older man’s chest. “Explore.”

Lambert swallows, and then brings his hand up to Aiden’s shoulder, tracing the outline of a scar he has there. Tracing down the arm. Aiden’s hip. Abdomen. 

Lambert’s own towel falls away on its own, but the Witcher is so focused on Aiden that he almost doesn’t notice, doesn’t notice until Aiden’s hand is against his stomach, tracing a scar just left of his navel, and then ever increasing circles out before moving up to Lambert’s chest, fingers tapping over the younger man’s heart.

Aiden rests a hand on each of Lambert’s shoulders, and pulls him into a kiss. As they kiss, he walks the other man backwards towards the bed, laying him down before laying beside him, propped up on his side next to the Witcher, a gentle finger still tracing shapes on his chest and stomach.

Over and over. 

Lambert seems to fade, his eyes drooping as his body realises that there is no pain, and allows itself to float in the sensation of Aiden’s touch. When Lambert is completely relaxed, the witcher smiles, and moves his hand up to cup the younger man’s chin. 

“Let me see your face.” Aiden whispers, studying Lambert’s eyes, his expression. Content with the calmness that he sees, Aiden’s hand slowly...second by second, trails back down Lambert’s neck and chest, his stomach. And the touch keeps going. 

“I’ve got you.” Aiden whispers, kissing the edge of Lambert’s jaw and his hand drops lower and...Lambert gasps, swallowing slightly. 

The touch brushes a burning route up and down, as gentle _there_ as it had been on his stomach. Less like fingers and more like heavy, hot air on his skin.

“How’s that?”

Lambert nods.

The touch stays for a while, brushing up and down, and a sensation builds at Lambert’s core. 

And then the touch leaves him. 

His eyes closed, Lambert hears the pop of a cork leaving a bottle, and after a moment the finger is back, but slicker now, softer. Up and down one more time, and then carrying on its journey, stopping to stroke the inside of Lambert’s thighs before moving. 

“Relax for me, my wolf. Shhh. Deep breath in.”

Lambert breaths in, and holds it.

“And out.”

He exhales through his mouth, and then makes a strange sound at the back of his throat as he feels the touch move _inside_ of him. 

“Shhh.” Aiden hushes, a smile on his face.

Lambert swallows again, his breath picking up. The sensitivity of his skin seems to have gone up ten fold, and everywhere that Aiden touches, both inside and out, is now reacting like a storm. Each kiss against Lambert’s face and neck is a burst. And it builds, his whole body is alive, feeling, pulsing. 

He can’t control it. He can’t stop it. His fingers claw at the bedsheets and he shakes his head. He’s not in control.

The touch slows. Stills. And Lambert’s body hangs in a plateau.

“Open your eyes if you can, Lambert.”

He does so, finding his vision blurred at the edges. 

“Shhh.” Aiden kisses his cheek, and Lambert gasps, looking Aiden in the eyes as the other Witcher leans back. 

Amber eyes that were once green, shining in the candlelight and looking at Lambert in a way that no one has ever looked at him before.

Aiden’s other hand moves to cup the back of his head, cradling it gently.

“Does it hurt?”

“I was losing control”

“If you shake your head, I’ll stop.” The older man whispers. “If you nod, I’ll carry on. You are in _complete_ control. I promise.”

Lambert nods. 

“Carry on or stop? Nod or shake your head, Lambert.”

After a moment, Lambert nods.

“Count backwards from five, then answer again.”

Lambert counts in his mind, and then nods. 

“Alright. Remember, I’ve got you.”

The touch moves inside of him again, but slower now, so slow. And the storm that spreads out from it is like the tide coming in inch by inch on the shoreline.

“I’ve got you.” Aiden whispers, and the touch increases, two fingers now, pressing and moving and pressing and moving. Then stilling against the storm, and that is even stronger, making Lambert’s body move without any conscious thought from its owner.

“Nod or shake your head, Lambert.”

Lambert nods. 

The touch moves again, grows again, tapping and pressing and growing and Lambert can feel it in every inch of him.

“Don’t wait for me to ask, shake your head if you need to stop. Or use axii.”

Lambert nods.

Aiden’s hand cradles his head, his body lines Lambert’s side, and Lambert’s own hand is on Aiden’s hip (he doesn’t remember moving it). Their ankles cross.

Aiden is here and Aiden _gives_ Lambert control of the storm.

_Nod or shake your head, Lambert._

And Lambert let’s go, crying out as he arches off the bed. 

The storm batters through him like an aard blast, the touch a catalyst, the spark in the explosion that burns through every nerve and muscle that Lambert has.

His next breath feels like his first, spreading from head to toe as his body comes back down to earth, sinking into the mattress.

“Shhhh.” He hears water, and a cool cloth bathes his skin, followed by a towel to dry. Then Aiden is beside him again, pulling the blanket up to cover them both.

He wraps his arms around Lambert, bringing his head onto the older man’s shoulder. “Any pain?”

Lambert shakes his head. 

“Say something, Lambert. Let me hear your voice.”

Lambert looks up at him, and gives him a small smile. “Something Lambert.”

Aiden chuckles, and places a kiss on his forehead and eye. “You are amazing.”

Lambert buries his face in Aiden’s chest, hiding from the praise, and Aiden lets him. Lambert’s defences are down, and the young man that Aiden holds is one that is rarely seen by the world. Vulnerable, lonely, and injured by those that turned him into a tool against monsters. His punishment for the crime of being sat outside, and therefore the first thing his abusive father saw when he got home.

“How do you feel?” Aiden asks, his voice low. 

After a moment, he feels Lambert smile against his skin. “I can see why you like it so much?” 

Aiden hums in affirmation. “Oh that was only a taste of this world, my innocent little wolf.”

Lambert sniffs, and looks at him. “Thank you.”

“It was my honour.” Aiden whispers, stroking the younger man’s hair. “Rest a while. And then, if you are feeling up to it, I have other things to show you.” He touches Lambert under the blanket. 

Lambert grins, actually grins. And Aiden thinks that it is the most beautiful sight in the world.

* * *

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

Keira is sitting in the yard, a wine goblet in her hand as she watches the sun start to set. 

“We’ve received an invitation to Corvo Bianco.” She holds up the letter as Lambert appears behind her, slowly walking over to the table. 

He takes the letter from her, and reads it. “ _Geralt_ sent us a formal invitation?”

“Barnabas is clearly rubbing off on him.” Kiera smiles. “Yennefer is there at the moment, with Chireadan and Regis.”

“Regis vampire, or Regis Chireadan junior?”

“Junior.” Keira says.

“Good.” Lambert sits down. “We can finally give the kid that sword we found him.”

Kiera pours the wine into a second goblet, and hands it to Lambert. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” Lambert smiles. “I’m good. I’m...thanks.”

“Well, it was Jaskier’s idea…”

“Keira.” Lambert insists, leaning forward. “Thank you.”

She smiles, and taps her wine goblet against his. 

They sit back, and watch the sunset together. 

“Did Aiden like wine?”

“Too much.” Lambert laughs. “He actually had a bounty on his head in Beauclair.”

“Oh?” Keira smiles. 

“We were celebrating a griffin hunt…”


	6. The Boy

**Redenia, 1238**

A noticeboard tells Lambert of a prosperous farming hamlet on the edge of a homestead. A cemetery sits a small way up the road, and the hamlet has lost two people so far, one of whom was found a week later on the road to the site. 

Or rather...what was left of him was found. 

Grave Hag. Lambert is willing to put gold on it. It could only be more obvious if the hag actually wrote the notice herself and signed it. 

So he tears down the notice, stocks up on black blood and necrophage oil, and arrives at the hamlet the day after next. 

In the meantime, the second body has been found, and a third person has gone missing. 

* * *

“Farrier’s lad.” The hamlet’s mayor says. “Timid little thing he is. Mother passed winter last, he goes up to the grave every month to leave tulips. Picks them from the weaver’s garden. Reckon that’s where he went last.”

“No one warned him about the hag?”

The mayor looks down, swallowing. “Farrier never had much time for him. Leaves the boy to his own devices if he’s lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Always had bruises on his face, poor little mite.” The Major’s wife nods, her arms crossed as she goes to stand beside her husband. “Skinny thing he was getting to be, too. Gave him food from our table when we could spare it.”

“Because leftovers make everything better.” Lambert snarls. 

“What would you have had us do, Master Witcher?” The woman says. “Got my own mouths to feed, and if we’d stepped in more, would have made the situation worse...”

“For the _boy_ , or for _you_?” 

They don’t answer.

Lambert nods, slamming the notice on the table between them. “I’ll kill your Hag.”

* * *

Lambert leaves the hamlet, and he has no intention of coming back. 

Because that boy is not going back to those people. Lambert is taking _him_ instead of the gold. 

The boy will travel with Lambert and Aiden the rest of the summer, then go to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He will be safe. He will be protected. 

Vesemir will sit by his bedside, holding his hand like he had Lambert’s his first night in the keep. _“Now, I know that big old castles like this are scary, Lambert, but you have lots of other boys here to make friends with. Can you see them sleeping in the other beds?” He remembers nodding as he looked around the dorm. “I know it’s dark, but one day you’ll be able to see in the dark. And do_ much more besides _. You’ll start training tomorrow, so sleep now, my boy. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”_

The boy will learn how to use a sword, so that he can feel strong. He’ll learn to feel safe when he sleeps at night.

Lambert finds the graveyard, and the putrid stench of the hag. 

She hisses at Lambert, her claws moving in front of her face in a strange dance, and then lunges. Lambert’s dodges, quickly grabbing a dagger and throwing it. The blade embeds in the hag’s skull and she screams and lashes out. She catches Lambert on the right side of his face. 

Blood fills his vision. 

The hag’s tongue lashes at the wound. Black blood hisses as it touches her flesh. She wails, backs away, and Lambert swings the sword with both hands. 

They parry, claws and silver. The black blood burns on her tongue. The dagger burns in her skull. And Lambert is driven by more than instinct. 

He has a goal. 

He has a plan. 

The boy will learn how to use a sword, so that he can feel strong. He’ll learn to feel safe when he sleeps at night. 

Lambert swings his blade one last time, sending the putrid torso one way, the legs another. Stepping over the remains of the hag, Lambert runs into the crypt, looks left and right. He can hear crying, or is it his imagination? An echo. A ghost. A spirit. So many died here, the bones line the floor and...in the corner…

Tiny. He’s so tiny.

The face is purple with bruises and swelling. The clothes are torn, with blood staining the edges. 

So tiny. So still. 

His fingers are broken, injured when he fought the hag, now tiny misshapen digits in swollen hands. 

Lambert falls to his knees, lifting the too tiny body into his lap, his breath frozen in the back of his throat as he shakes the body, brushing the hair back. 

“Come on kid, come on.”

He’s so cold. So still.

“Come _on_.” Lambert shouts so loudly that his voice echoes in the crypt, shaking the tiny body, every single one of his senses focused on the boy. A fiend could walk in right now and Lambert wouldn’t notice it. He sees and hears only the tiny body in his arms. 

But there is no movement. No sound. The blood is dry. The heart is still and has been for hours. 

And this is the world that Lambert fights to protect? A world where justice is a dream, and monsters are human and innocent children die afraid in a world that is no comfort to them. 

Lambert stands, cradling the boy who would never learn to use a sword. And he can’t breath. 

* * *

There is only one woman’s grave with tulips on it, so he picks these up and lays the boy in their spot, kneeling beside the grave and reaching out with his hand. The igni is quick, efficient, an explosion that leaves behind ash. 

Laying the tulips back over the ash, Lambert stands and leaves. 

He does not go back to the hamlet. He does not want their gold.

 _If he sees them, he’ll kill them_.

He walks along the road, and doesn’t really know where he is going. Blood pours down the side of his face from two vicious wounds. But Lambert barely notices it.

_He doesn’t care._

_He knows what he needs. Wants._

* * *

Over the years, Aiden has developed a knack for following tracks and trails, which when combined with his natural ability to read human behaviour and his ever growing collections of favours owed to him across the continent, makes him very good at finding missing people. Be they eloping youngsters or a husband who failed to return from a hunt, Aiden tends to find them quickly and either take them home or, sometimes, agree with their reason for leaving and help them on their way.

This particular contract had been for a merchant who thought it perfectly okay to sell the same house four times to different people. Aiden had tracked him down to the edge of Novigrad where the scoundrel was already in the process of selling a horse advertised as a champion racer. Aiden was no expert in horses, but even he could see that the closest this horse had come to a racing track was pulling the cart that had delivered the saddles. 

The conman was quickly subdued with axii, and a delightful trip back to Oxenfurt ensued during which time Aiden had learned that his new travelling companion was a former bartender under a landlord who thought nothing of knocking staff around the ears. He escaped his drone existence one night when he had gotten lucky at cards, winning a piece of artwork that he had later sold.

It was only on his third piece of artwork that he realised the genius of...double booking. 

His natural progression from art to property had seen him share tables and dance floors with many of the higher echelons of society. It was a true rags to riches tale. 

Aiden almost felt guilty when he handed the con-man over to his employer, but a contract was a contract. 

Now, weighing up the gold coin bag as he walks, Aiden settles on the crossroad corner where they had agreed to meet, the one with the “old tree that looks like someone cursed a leshen” as Lambert put it. Moving off the road, Aiden begins setting up camp, confident that Lambert will be able to follow his tracks when he arrives.

It is three days, during which Aiden has made several new potions, emptied the river of fish and shared a strange but fulfilling conversation with the rock troll in the cave by said river, that Lambert steps into the camp. Or rather stumbles.

“Melitele...what happened?” Aiden can’t see anything except the dried blood caking the side of Lambert’s haunted expression. His friend's eyes are unfocused, looking at the tree behind Aiden but clearly not actually seeing it or anything. He doesn’t look like he’s eaten or slept in days. 

Reaching for his supplies, Aiden pulls out a cloth and water skin, wetting the cloth and approaching Lambert. “Well they certainly got you good, whatever they were? Necrophage of some sort, I’m guessing. I’m going to clean that up for you, alright?” No response. “Lambert?”

“Aiden?” Lambert whispers, looking at Aiden as if seeing him for the first time. 

_Something_ has built inside of Lambert. A bucket of water slowly filling with hot, scalding oil with every step he has taken along the road.

Drop by drop. 

And now, seeing Aiden, an instinct awakens inside the younger witcher. A desperate need for safety and warmth. He wants the security that Aiden brings him. He _wants_ to be held and gently touched and reassured. 

A part of Lambert has waited for this second. 

A part of Lambert that knows that it is okay to grab Aiden’s coat with the ferocity of a fall victim grabbing a rope, dragging the older man down with him as the bucket overflows, spills burning oil across Lambert’s mind and spine. He feels sick as he cries. 

These are not the quiet, half whispered sobs that Aiden falls into after a nightmare. These are screams, gasped sobs stealing the air from Lambert’s lungs and shaking them both. 

He buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder, feels Aiden’s arms around him (Safe, this is safety) and he cries.

_Lambert carries the boy into the camp, and Aiden smiles, greeting the boy by ruffling his hair. When the boy is scared, Aiden holds him. Rocking him. And the next day they take him to the market and Aiden buys him toffee apples. As many as he wants._

_The saviour that Lambert can remember dreaming of while hiding under the blanket from his father's drunk shouting._

_In the winter he goes to Kaer Morhen and meets Vesemir. And Vesemir teaches him how to be strong._

He eventually stops crying, but Lambert still feels rotten to the core, heavy and pained. The area behind his eyes stings so badly that he can barely see, and his throat feels like he has swallowed sand. 

He is also exhausted, so exhausted that his thoughts are under water.

 _He wants to close his eyes and never open them again_.

“Well, I would say that you were a good three decades overdue for that little outburst.” Aiden whispers into his hair, before turning to rest his cheek against Lambert’s crown. “My poor wolf. You don’t have to tell me what’s happened if you don’t want to. If you just need me to hold you, then of course I will.” A smile enters his voice. “After all, how many times have you held me after one of my nightmares? I’ve lost count.”

He is talking to himself, because Lambert is fast asleep against him, and remains so even when Aiden gently lays him against the ground, and starts cleaning the wounds on his face.

When Lambert wakes the next morning, he is in Aiden’s arms, listening to the cat Witcher’s heartbeat.

Lambert never tells Aiden about the boy, and Aiden never asks about the cause of the breakdown. 

For the rest of the summer of 1238, Lambert travels with Aiden as he does his contracts, even the boring ones. And in the evenings, Aiden lays their bedrolls beside each other without a word.

Sometimes he lets the younger Witcher lay in his lap, and strokes his hair.

In the winter, Aiden goes to find the cat witcher caravan, and Lambert goes to Kaer Morhen _alone_.

* * *

The wounds on the right side of Lambert’s face scar. Two lines along the right side of his face. Mementos for whenever Lambert looks in a mirror. 

Two lines. Two boys.

The Farrier’s boy.

And Lambert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry :'-(


	7. The Coat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been oohing and aahing about whether to add this work to the Jaskier's Monster series. It's very much standalone, but set in the same canon divergance AU because I'm not ready to leave it behind just yet :-D  
> Judging by some of the future material I've written for this, it's going to be calling more and more on elements now that the time lines have caught up, so I've added it, although it will remain a stand alone entry. I'll try to write it in such a way that you won't need to read the leviathan series before it to understand what's going on (Although...you can read it if you want to :-) )

**Ellander, 1239**

Before parting for the winter of 1238, Aiden suggested that they rendezvous in Ellander on the ninth day of summer, at midday, by the Temple of Melitele. So Lambert spends the spring nearby, picking up drowner contracts to bide the time until summer arrives and he is standing outside the temple, greeting Aiden with a hug, 

Not finding any interesting contracts in the city, they set up camp in the forest nearby, and share a meal while Lambert fills Aiden in on the events of Kaer Morhen, and Aiden in turn tells Lambert about the Merchant caravan that he travelled with as a bodyguard for the winter months.

Falling quiet, Aiden puts his empty plate on the ground, and reaches into the bag behind him. “By the way, this is for you.”

 **“** What is it?” Lambert says, putting his own plate down and accepting the package. 

Aiden sits back against the tree behind Lambert, a proud expression on his face.

“It’s not from the Passiflora is it?” Lambert says with mock concern as he reaches for a dagger and slowly cuts the strings holding the paper package together.

“No.”

Lambert unfolds the paper, and slowly lowers the package to the ground, lifting the contents up with both hands. 

“The design is my own.” Aiden says, “It was put together by an armorer in Zavada. He owed me a favour.”

The brown coat is made of the light leather armour favoured by the cat school, the inside lined with a red and black sewn shirt. On one shoulder there is a pattern made from leather straps, held in place by silver studs, while heavy stitching further decorates the collar.

Looking from the coat to Aiden and then back again, Lambert wordlessly puts it on over his shirt, finding that it fits perfectly. He smiles.

“You like it?”

Lambert doesn’t reply, running his finger along the pattern on the shoulder.

“Lambert?”

“It’s perfect.” He looks at Aiden. “But...why?”

“Do I need a reason to spoil you?” Aiden smiles. “Although, as it happens, there _is_ an occasion.” He indicates the camp. “It’s our anniversary.”

“Our what?”

“On this very day, ten years ago, an Ellanderan ogre threw you out of a window and into my arms.”

“I landed on the road.”

“Let _me_ tell the story.” Aiden scolds, tapping Lambert’s forehead and earning a smile from the younger man as Aiden sits back, adjusting the collar of the coat. “It looks good on you.”

“I didn’t…” Lambert bites his bottom lip. “I didn’t get you anything?”

“Yes you did.” Aiden says, his hand moving up to cup Lambert’s face, his signal. Because he _always_ asks first. And it is only when Lambert nods that Aiden leans in, kissing him first on the lips and then on the cheek.

“Look around.” He says against Lambert’s skin. “Recognise anything?”

Lambert’s eyes look left and then right, then he shakes his head.

“This is where I had my camp. Where I tended to your wounds. Where _you_ met _me_.” Aiden slowly lays Lambert down on the ground, his hand cradling the younger man’s head above the dirt. “You woke up here, on this spot. Our eyes met.” He breaks eye contact. “And then you vomited.”

Lambert flinches. “Great first impression.”

Aiden smiles, and leans forward, kissing him again.

After a moment, Lambert gently pushes him away. “Please don’t ask to fuck me while I’m wearing the coat.”

Aiden laughs, his head falling to the Witcher’s shoulder.

“As proud as I am of my design, I think I would prefer you _out_ of the coat.” He turns his head to the side, and runs a hand down Lambert’s arm. “Among _other_ things.”

Lambert smiles again, sitting up and reaching forward to grab the edges of Aiden’s shirt.

* * *

* * *

**Kaer Morhen, 1239**

Geralt meets Lambert in the main hall.

“Nice jacket.”

Thanks.

“Quite expert craftsmanship.” Vesemir agrees. “Where did you find it?”

“Ellander.” Lambert says, smiling as he looks down at the coat. 

* * *

* * *

**Blaviken, 1241**

“I demand trial by combat.”

Aiden should have known. He should have fucking _known_ that there was a reason why Lambert, who rarely suggested places to look for contracts, had suggested looking for contracts in Blaviken during the summer. 

He should have known when they entered the square to a mummer troup reenacting the ‘Terrible day’ that the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ attacked the ‘innocent townspeople’ in the square, ten years ago that very day.

He should have known when Lambert shouts at the Alderman. “That’s _not_ how it happened.” 

The Alderman grins. “We all saw what happened that day.”

“Then you all saw Geralt get attacked first. By Renfri’s men.”

“Lambert, let’s leave it.” Aiden rests a hand on Lambert’s arm. “Let the backwater town have their backwater beliefs. _We_ know the truth.”

Lambert shakes the hand off, and steps forward. 

“My friend and I were just passing through…” Aiden is saying. 

“I demand trial by combat.”

“...Fucking Wolves.”

A woman stands next to the Alderman. She is in her twenties and Aiden assumes, based on her similar face shape, that she is the man’s daughter. 

“Blaviken accepts, Witcher.” She says.

Lambert’s posture is confident, with his arms crossed. “Choose your champion. I’ll wait.”

Climbing up to sit on a fence, literally and figuratively, Aiden takes a sandwich from his supply back, and starts to chew it slowly. 

“Very well.” The Alderman says loudly, speaking to the townspeople as much as to Lambert. “Trial by combat. If you win, Geralt of Rivia’s name is cleared of all crimes in Blaviken. If you die...well, the world is down one freak.”

The town people laugh and jeer, but Lambert just rolls his shoulders back. “Let’s do this.”

“Ready the champion.” The Alderman shouts, beginning a chain of soldiers and servants shouting all the way down the street. 

Lambert double checks his scabbard and armour, taking a quick sip from his waterskin as he looks at Aiden. “This won’t take long.” 

He throws the waterskin.

“Are you sure?” Aiden catches the waterskin, then indicates the street behind Lambert with a nod. 

The Witcher slowly turns, and gets his first look at the chosen fighting champion of Blaviken. 

“Pebbles make Witcher go splat?”

“That’s a rock troll.”

“Yes.” Aiden nods. 

“Tough fight for a Witcher.”

“Yes.”

“Good thing there’s two of us.”

Aiden takes a bite from the sandwich. 

“You’re helping me, right.”

Aiden shakes his head, chewing his mouthful and swallowing. 

“Aiden?”

“If I bail you out every time you lose your temper, you’ll never learn self control.”

“I…” Lambert raises a finger. “One. I don’t need you to _parent_ me.”

“Your current situation disagrees.”

Lambert bites his tongue, a second finger raised. “Two. _Rock Troll_.”

“I believe in you.” Aiden smiles, and hands Lambert a bottle of ogroid oil. “Pop that on your blade, there’s a good idiot.” 

Lambert rolls his eyes. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Hopefully.” Aiden looks from Lambert to the troll, and takes another bite from the sandwich.

“Pebbles make Witcher go splat?”

“Pebbles?” Lambert looks at the Alderman.

“Marilka named him.” The Alderman looks at his daughter, who in turn smiles fondly at the troll.

By this point a large audience has built up both around the square, and from windows of the various surrounding buildings. Some people have even climbed up onto roofs. 

Lambert quietly removes the holdall with his swords, and then takes off his coat, giving it to Aiden. “Don’t want that getting ruined.”

“It’s armour.”

“Leather armour against a rock troll.”

“Good point.” Aiden nods as he folds the coat onto his lap.

Lambert puts the sword holdall back on, and sighs. “Goodbye.”

“It’s been an honour, Lambert of Maribor.”

“The trial begins on the third bell.” The Alderman announces. “It ends on the first mercy, or the first death.”

The crows cheers. 

“Splat.” ‘Pebbles’ jumps up and down as he shouts over the crowd. “Make go splat.”

Aiden calmly finishes his sandwich, and starts wiping the ogroid oil along his own sword as a bell rings three times.

Throwing Quen at himself, Lambert holds his own well, dodging blows and staying in front of the troll as he swings. But ‘Pebbles’ is no stranger to such fights. He turns quickly, showing his rock covered back to Lambert’s blade most of the times it strikes.

The Troll then sends both fists crashing down on Lambert’s head, and there is a boom as the Quen shield drops just as Lambert dodges the blow. The crowd gets only louder as he stands, throwing up another shield, and looking at his sword. 

“Blunted.”

Without a word, Aiden throws his freshly oiled sword with one hand, while catching Lambert's sword with the other, and the fight continues. 

“Stop using quen.” Aiden shouts over the cheering crowd.

“Are you fucking with me, Aiden?”

“You’re wasting chaos.” Aiden shouts back. “He’s fast. Slow him down.”

Lambert nods, and throws down the Yrden ring.

Slowed, the rock troll goes to punch Lambert, but in doing so leaves his soft belly exposed. Lambert strikes, slicing across the skin of both the stomach and neck before ducking the punch, all in one fluid movement. 

‘Pebbles’ goes to punch again, and gets more wounds from the sword, cuts on top of cuts on both the stomach and neck. But a third punch finds its mark, sending a temporarily dazed Lambert skidding across the ground, lifeless.

Aiden jumps off the fence, the coat falling to the ground, his stomach filling with stones as he looks into the square. As he watches the troll approach Lambert. 

The crowd is silent.

And Lambert turns over and throws an aard blast, sending the unsuspecting, injured troll toppling to the ground. Now standing, Lambert throws another aard and the troll is forced onto its back, it’s stomach exposed.

“No!” Marilka cries out. 

Lambert raises the sword, and then lowers it, turning to face the Alderman. 

“First mercy.” Lambert spits blood from his mouth. “We are Witchers, not butchers.”

* * *

Later, Lambert turns to Aiden as the witcher hands him his coat. 

“What’s that smile for?” Lambert says, passing his swords to Aiden while he puts the coat on.

“You.” Aiden looks at him. “Your family is lucky to have you.”

Lambert scoffs, shaking his head as he returns the swords to his back. 

“Not many would fight a rock troll to save their brother’s reputation.” Aiden says. “I hope your Geralt appreciates it.”

“No one will even say anything.” Lambert says, his voice low. 

“Then why did you do it?”

After a moment, Lambert shrugs. “Because I don’t need them to.”

Aiden smiles, and leans his head against Lambert’s shoulder as they walk away.

“Thanks, for looking after the jacket.” 

* * *

* * *

**Kaer Morhen, 1241**

Geralt and Vesemir meet Lambert in the main hall.

And Lambert was right, they don’t say anything. 

Instead, Geralt pulls Lambert into a hug, his hand running up and down his younger brother’s back.

Dinner that evening is fish, Lambert’s favourite. And Lambert knows that Vesemir caught and cooked it himself.

“Managed to keep the coat clean on the path, I see.” Eskell says as they sit by the fire that evening. “Are you actually going to take the damn thing _off_ this winter.”

“I don’t want to lose it.”


	8. The Poison

**Redania, 1244**

“There she is.” Lambert whispers as they peer through the foliage at the clearing beyond. He winks at Aiden, then looks at the young man between them. “You ready, Jas?”

Jaskier swallows, and then nods, looking at the moondust bomb in his hand. 

“Soon as Lambert gives the signal, you throw that.” Aiden points at the bomb. “At that.” And then points at the nightwraith.

Jaskier nods. “Throw the bomb.”

“And then get ready.” Lambert reaches for his sword. “Because she will be pissed.” 

“At you.” Aiden nods. 

Jaskier checks Aiden’s silver sword, currently in a scabbard on the bard’s hip, then grits his teeth. “Maybe...one of you two should throw the bomb?”

“I’ll be throwing the Yrden.” Aiden says.

“And I’ll be swinging my sword at the bitch.” Lambert shrugs. “Don’t worry. I get it’s scary, but you’ve got two witcher’s at your back. And _you_ are our scorched earth card in the scoia'tael deck.”

“I’m important here.” Jaskier nods.” I throw the bomb at the ghost.”

“Nightwraith.” Both Aiden and Lambert say at the same time. 

“Nightwraith.” Jaskier looks down. “And then distract her from your attack. And you’ve got my back.”

“We’ve got your back.” Lambert repeats.

“Can I trouble you for some Petri’s Philter?” Aiden says.

“You are _fucking_ with me.” Lambert shakes his head. “You _always_ have the right potions.”

“Well, when you said ‘I want you to meet a friend of mine’ I’m afraid you neglected to add ‘and go nightwraith hunting with him’ as well.”

Jaskier shrugs. “He didn’t tell me either, if it helps.”

“I didn’t _know_ about the nightwraith contract.” Lambert shakes his head, and then reaches into the bag at his hip. “Petri’s Philter.” He throws the bottle at Aiden. 

“Thank you.” The Witcher catches it, then drinks it whole. 

“Let’s do this.” Lambert pats Jaskier’s shoulder, then sneaks into the clearing, Aiden coming round from the other side while Jaskier, slowly, creeps forward. They are soon surrounding the so far unsuspecting nightwraith, who is concentrating on the apparently very distracting broken mug on the rock in front of her. 

Aiden nods at Lambert, and the wolf throws a hand signal at Jaskier. 

The bard nods, takes his own borrowed sword from its scabbard with one hand, and then throws the bomb with the other. 

The nightwraith screams, immediately turning to face the bard and flying at him with speed, or maybe she teleports, Jaskier isn’t sure. All he knows is that suddenly the wraith is in front of him, and all he has time to do is raise the sword at an angle that impales the creature against it. The wraith shrieks, and the force of her cutting through the blade point sends Jaskier crashing to the ground as the yrden surrounds them both.

Lambert rushes in, aiming for the monster's neck. “ _Jas, eyes shut_.”

Jaskier closes his eyes as Lambert, having thrown igni at the broken mug, now swings his sword to connect to the monster’s neck, sending the head flying into the clearing while it and the rest of the body dissolve into dust, spreading across the clearing, as well as the bard’s head.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Jaskier hears Lambert say, and a water skin is emptied over his face. “There you go. Eyes are clean. Well done, Julian.”

Still trembling from adrenaline, Jaskier opens his eyes slowly as Lambert sits him up. The bard looks from the witcher to where the Nightwraith had been. 

“You did very well, Master Pankratz.” Aiden agrees. “Didn’t even flinch when she flew at you.”

“ _That_ was the paralysing terror.” Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around himself as Lambert rubs his back.

“Right, let’s go get our trophy.” Lambert says.

Aiden nods. “And we split the reward three ways?.”

“I don’t know.” Lambert winks at Jaskier before standing. “I’d say that Jas here did most of the work on this one.”

“Agreed.” Aiden nods, smiling at the young bard. “60 percent for Jaskier, and then you and I get 20 each.” 

“Done.” Lambert nods, and shakes Aiden’s hand. 

Jaskier stands. “I can’t wait to tell…”

“No one.” Lambert says, loudly. “Seriously, not a fucking soul. If Vesemir and the others find out I took you nightwraith hunting, my life won’t be worth living.”

“Fine.” Jaskier raises his hands in surrender. “Our secret.”

Lambert winks at him, then whispers. “They’d be proud, though.” He reaches out to ruffle his hair. “I know I am.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know the real reason.” He says after a moment.

“Real reason?”

“For not telling the others.” Jaskier says. “You don’t want them knowing about Aiden.”

Lambert’s smile fades, and he sighs. “Look, kid. Wolf and Cat school, they don’t have a good history. The others find out about Aiden, they might not approve. It’s the same reason why Aiden’s never told his school about me. We have to be each other's secret, you understand?”

“But you know them better than that.” Jaskier argues. “They won’t judge _Aiden_ by his _school_.”

Lambert nods.

“I know how I believe it will be.” Lambert shrugs. “But what if Aiden is the time that I’m wrong. I can't risk it. And Aiden can’t risk it either.”

Jaskier nods. “Well, I don’t agree. But...I _will_ keep your secret. They won’t find out about Aiden from me. Not…” Jaskier raises a finger. “Not unless it’s life or death. If one of you is in trouble and them knowing about Aiden helps.”

Lambert nods. “Works for me.”

Jaskier smiles. “Okay.”

“Come on.” Lambert says, indicating the direction of travel with a nod. “Trophy, then back to our camp. Where’s Aiden?”

They find Aiden sat on the edge of the clearing, one arm wrapped around his stomach, his breathing laboured. 

“Aiden?” Lambert gently pushes Jaskier back, kneeling down and lowering his voice as he places a hand against Aiden’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m here. You having one of your flashbacks?”

Aiden, his eyes tightly closed, shakes his head. “No, I just feel...sick?”

“Sick?”

“Geralt said that witcher’s don’t get sick?” Jaskier says. 

Lambert silences the young bard with a raised hand. “Aiden, look at me.”

The distressed Witcher opens his eyes, fixing his gaze on Lambert. “It’s hard to breath.”

“It’s alright. I’m here.” Lambert smiles reassuringly, placing a hand on Aiden’s other shoulder, before looking at Jaskier. “Jas, can you run back to our camp and get the bedrolls ready.”

The bard nods. “I’ve...I’ve got some ribleaf in my pack, should I brew some tea?”

Lambert smiles, looking back at Aiden. “Good thinking.”

Jaskier nods, and runs away from the clearing as Lambert gently lifts Aiden into his arms. 

“Ribleaf tea?” The older witcher protests. “It’s not in my mind.”

“I know.” Lambert is half lying. Aiden’s panic attacks can be hard to decipher sometimes, but he doesn’t want to upset the witcher further by openly questioning his current reality unless he has to. “Jaskier gets anxious if he doesn’t feel useful. Let him make his tea. Drinking it won’t hurt. Then when the kid’s asleep, you and I can figure out what’s _really_ going on.”

Aiden nods against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut again as Lambert carries him back to the camp.

* * *

It quickly becomes clear that this is not one of Aiden’s panic attacks. 

The witcher is covered in sweat even after being stripped down to his shirt and smallclothes. He coughs, mumbling incomprehensibly under his breath as his head turns from side to side. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jaskier says.

“I don’t know.” Lambert admits, not willing to let his pride step in when it comes to Aiden’s well being. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Jaskier nods, then pulls a device from his pocket. A Xenovox.

“I’m getting Triss.” Jaskier says.

Lambert looks at the xenevox, and nods. “Get Merigold.”

To Lambert, it feels like an eternity before the portal opens. But Merigold is not the only person to step through. 

“Vesemir.” Jaskier greets the eldest of the witchers with a hug.

Lambert straightens up, his arms tightening around Aiden laid in his lap as Vesemir steps out of Jaskier’s embrace and kneels down opposite Lambert. “His name is Aiden?”

Lambert nods. 

“We came as soon as we got Jaskier’s message.” Triss has her long black curls tied back into loose buns. She indicates Lambert with a nod as she kneels beside him. “Aiden’s symptoms?”

“He said he can’t breathe properly. And he’s burning up.” Lambert rests a hand against Aiden’s forehead, ignoring Vesemir and the ramifications of his presence for now. “His heart’s faster than Jaskier’s heart.”

The bard nods.

“Has Aiden been bitten?” Triss asks.

“No.” Lambert shakes his head. “Three of us fought a Nightwraith, but they don’t bite to attack.” 

Triss nods.

“A nightwraith. With Julian?” Vesemir says, harshly.

“Not important right now.” Jaskier scolds, before looking at Triss. 

“Witcher’s take potions to prepare for battles.” Triss says. “What did Aiden take for this one?”

“He took Petri’s Philter.” Jaskier says.

“Petri’s philter shouldn’t cause this reaction.” Triss looks at Vesemir.

“Unless.” Vesemir looks at Lambert. “Was the philter from _your_ supply?”

Lambert nods.

“Vesemir?” Triss asks, a hand rested on Aiden’s arm.

The oldest Wolf turns back to the sorceress. “The nature of Cat mutations are different from wolves. Some potions must be mixed differently, and Petri’s Philter is one. Your patient is having a reaction similar to anaphylaxis.”

Triss nods, and turns to her herbalist bag.

“I poisoned him?” Lambert whispers.

Vesemir looks at him. “You weren’t to know, Lambert. Such secrets are not common knowledge between our schools. Although maybe they should be.”

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the facts. 

Lambert is numb to Jaskier’s hand resting on his shoulder. It’s not important. Only one fact is important in Lambert’s world right that second, the fact of the man laying in his lap.

Aiden is dying. 

And Lambert gave him the poison.


	9. Anathema

**Redania, 1244**

Lamberts kneels on the ground, Aiden propped up against his lap.

“You are able to survive incredible hardship.” Triss is saying.

“He knows.” Lambert mutters.

“I am using magic to mimic the effects of white honey potion. Another spell is stabilising your symptoms.” The sorceress continues. “The philter will break down in your system on its own. Then your bodies natural healing process should take over."

"I found these in his bag." Jaskier kneels beside her. "Is one of them Swallow? The colours are different."

"Aiden." Lambert gently nudges the half asleep man. "Hey, got a game for you. Point at Swallow."

Aiden looks at the bottles, and points. Jaskier then takes the bottle, uncorking it briefly and confirming the smell.

"That's the one."

"The spell will nullify it if we use it now. But afterwards." Triss nods. "Just a few more hours, Aiden."

“Just like the trials.” Lambert’s voice is a quiet monotone as he looks at Vesemir. “Must be bringing back fond memories for you.”

Vesemir sits back, biting his tongue.

“Don't take your anger out on him.” Triss scolds. "That energy is better spent distracting your friend from his pain."

"Hookweed?"

Triss shakes her head. "We can't risk anything that hasn't come from Aiden's own supply. I will do what I can with magic."

"Thanks, Merigold." Lambert nods, and resumes running a hand through Aiden’s hair while, in front of him, Triss begins casting a healing spell.

Vesemir gets up, going to talk to Jaskier.

"So.” Lambert says. “You and Vesemir?"

Triss nods. "I'm helping him with contracts."

"Bit old for you, isn't he?"

Triss grins. "Jealous are you, witcher?"

"Nauseated."

She shakes her head. "I assure you that our relationship is purely professional."

"Oh, professional." He looks down at Aiden. "Like your professional relationships at the Passiflora."

"Regular customer, is he?"

"He has a fucking tab." Lambert smiles, fondly. “He’s going to be okay?”

“Of course.” 

In the corner of the camp, a slow balad begins being plucked from a lute.

Lambert looks round. “Know any tavern songs?”

Jaskier nods, switching to a song that Lambert’s heard in Novigrad more than once.

Aiden seems to grow calmer, his head turning towards Jaskier and the familiar tune, even though his eyes stay closed. 

Time passes. Lambert strokes Aiden’s hair. Jaskier plays his lute, and Triss mumbles the words to her spell as she works. 

And Vesemir talks. 

“One morning, when we woke, Lambert’s bed was empty.” Vesemir is saying, looking at Aiden. “No sign of him in the Bastion, but one of the training daggers was missing, and we found his tiny little footprints climbing over the east wall.”

Aiden is clearly asleep, but Vesemir continues anyway.

“I caught the little devil a mile away, cutting into a rabbit he’d managed to kill. He was getting ready to eat it raw. Raw! Well, I had the reputation of my _school_ to consider now. And a Wolf knows how to prepare meat on the road.”

Jaskier chuckles. 

“So I started his survival lessons, and Lambert's breakfast that day was a rabbit he caught, prepared and cooked himself over a small campfire.” He looks at Lambert. “You were barely six years old."

Lambert nods.

“As soon as we were finished eating, he looked into the forest. And his eyes widened, I remember he gulped with fear and just pointed at something behind me. I took my sword, turned...and there I was looking at a great big...empty forest.” 

Triss smiles. 

“Little bastard was already running when I turned back.”

They all laugh, and the corner of Lambert’s mouth twitches up. 

Time passes, and Aiden begins to struggle, opening his eyes and looking into Lambert’s before coughing violently. 

They turn him onto his side and Jaskier is ready with a bowl as Aiden coughs up vomit and bile into it.

He settles, and Lambert smiles. “Guess we’re even now.”

Aiden laughs at that, albeit weakly, and the other three exchange a look, on the outside of the joke between the two witchers. 

Vesemir holds a water skin to Aiden’s lips. “Rinse your mouth out.”

Aiden takes a gulp of the water, swirling it around his mouth a few times before spitting it out into the bowl. That done, he settles onto his side and as good as buries his face in Lambert’s leg, sighing as the younger witcher’s hand returns to his hair, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck.

Jaskier goes to clean the bowl, and Triss continues her spell. 

Finally, it is time for the swallow potion.

“Lambert’s eyes.” Aiden mumbles. “What colour were they, before the trials?”

Vesemir looks at Lambert. “They were brown. Why?”

Aiden nods, and falls asleep.

Behind them, Jaskier picks up his lute, and continues playing.

* * *

They grab him. Hold him against the ground. Kicks and punches. Knives. The rope is pulled around his neck and he gags. 

He can’t fight. No, he can. There’s one in front of him. He grabs them, punches out.

“Aiden.” 

_No_. He recognises axii. No!

Oh no.

The bard is laid in front of him, moaning as he nurses his arm, experimenting with moving it and wincing in pain. Triss kneels beside him, already inspecting the damage.

Damage Aiden caused. 

Vesemir, his hand still raised from the axii spell, glares at Aiden.

“It’s alright.” Lambert kneels against Aiden. “Don’t worry about it. Just a nightmare.”

Aiden doesn’t say anything. 

Sitting up, Jaskier experiments with moving his arm again. “Sorry...he was crying in his sleep…”

“You did nothing wrong, Julian.”

Lambert looks at Vesemir, and Vesemir looks back, expression blank.

Aiden doesn’t say anything.

* * *

“Has he ever hurt you?”

“If you don’t want me being friends with Aiden, why let Triss save his life?”

“I’m not in the habit of letting young men die needlessly.”

“No.” Lambert snaps. “Just little boys strapped to tables.”

“Lambert, for once in your life be _reasonable_. Witchers from the School of the Cat, they can be unstable, psychopaths capable of incredible cruelty.”

“He hurt Jaskier while waking up from a nightmare.” Lambert argues. “Aiden isn’t like that normally.”

“I hope that you wouldn’t be accompanying him on the path if you thought he was.” Vesemir says. “But answer the question. Has he ever hurt you? Made you feel uncomfortable? Forced you into situations you later regretted?"

"No. He always asks. And if I say no, he doesn't ask again that day. He..." Realising what he is saying, Lambert stops and bites his bottom lip.

“I see.”

Lambert looks away.

Vesemir steps forward. “Love is nothing to be ashamed of, my boy.”

Lambert nods, turning back. 

"When Aiden was a kid, Jaskier’s age or a bit younger, he had a run in with a mob. They beat him, tortured him, hung him from a tree by the neck. And when they were done, they tossed him in a ditch and left him there to die.”

Vesemir nods. 

“He never got over it. How _do_ you get over something like that? So he gets nightmares like you saw last night, sometimes he even gets them while he’s awake. He hid them from me, the first few years, but then I saw one up close and...he lets me help now. But when he’s having them, sometimes he forgets where he is and...he thinks he’s still being attacked. So yes he’s punched me a few times. Thrown me across a room with aard.” 

Vesemir nods. 

“But it’s not his fault.” Lambert argues. “And I _know_ that in his right frame of mind he would never hurt me. So you can stop worrying about it, old man. I’m not in an abusive situation. And I would give up Kaer Morhen before I gave up Aiden, so don’t make me choose…"

“That is not my intention." Vesemir crosses his arms. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Lambert. That is my only concern.”

“I’m fine.”

“And outside of these...attacks, does Aiden struggle with his emotions generally?”

“The opposite.” Lambert shrugs. “Never seen him get angry. Always just irritatingly happy. Like a witcher version of Jas.”

Vesemir smiles.

“It’s fucked up.” Lambert is saying. “What those bastards did to him. Just being a Witcher in general. His own parents _sold_ him to the Cats. I’d be punching holes in walls. But Aiden just...he never gets angry. Even if you bring the subject up.”

* * *

Vesemir thinks for a long time, then steps out of the camp. 

He finds Aiden on a walk prescribed by Triss, exercising his muscles as he moves from one side of a small clearing to the other. The colour is already back in his face, his physicality quickly recovering now that the stressor of the Philter has been removed. 

“How are you feeling, young man?”

“Nearly back to normal.” Aiden smiles. “Most likely lost a couple of my nine lives. But, thanks to your sorceress friend, I haven’t lost all of them yet.”

Vesemir nods.

“I’ve already apologised to the bard this morning.” 

“Good.” Vesemir crosses his arms. “You seem very calm now.”

“I survived.” Aiden shrugs. “Why should I be anything else?”

And there it is, in his jaw. A twitch. And Vesemir rolls with it.

"Do you blame Lambert for what happened?"

"Of course not. I asked for the Philter. Neither of us knew it would hurt me. Lambert would never hurt me."

Vesemir sighs. "But you’ve hurt him before.” 

Aiden stops walking. 

“During nightmares.” Vesemir says.

"Master Witcher, I…I hate myself for those...moments of vulnerability.”

Vesemir nods, slowly. “He says you never get angry. But that is not true, is it Aiden. You’re angry right now.”

“I just nearly died, I think I can be forgiven an emotion or two.” Aiden’s jaw twitches. “But anger is a waste of energy. Life is too short, especially for working Witchers.” He looks forward and continues his walk.

“So you bottle it up?”

“I just don’t see the point of it.”

Silence for a moment.

“Have you ever crafted a dimeritium bomb?”

Aiden stops walking, and nods. 

“Then you’ll know how dangerous the procedure can be, especially when closing the case. You have to make sure it isn’t completely sealed. Do you know why?”

“Of course. If dimeritium runs out of oxygen, it starts to destabilise.”

“Same with emotions.” Vesemir nods. “Fear. Anger. Keep them bottled up, seal them away completely, and the mind is destabilised. That anger becomes nightmares. Monsters in your mind.”

“With no offense meant, Master Witcher. You’ve known me for a few days and I was unconscious for half of them so...”

“I’ve known Witchers like you my entire life.” Vesemir says. “Angry about their destiny. Angry about the path and events on it...”

“I’m not angry.” His jaw twitches.

“...And hiding from that anger because it’s easier than facing what happened and coming to terms with it.” Vesemir sighs. “And I’ve seen the ones that eventually lose their minds.”

“No…”

“Destabilise completely. Start to hurt the people around them." He indicates Lambert, who is starting to make his way towards them.

Aiden shakes his head. “I can't be angry.”

“You’re afraid of it.” Vesemir says.

“Wouldn’t you be?” His jaw twitches.

“Leave him alone, Old man.” Lambert says, moving to stand between Aiden and Vesemir. 

“I’ve seen it as well, Master Witcher.” Aiden says, stepping past Lambert. “In other cats. Brehen. Kiyan. I saw what _they_ turned into when they let themselves be angry. Killing for sport, even _children_ . Not just for the coin. They did it because it _thrilled_ them. Violence, cruelty, it becomes like a drug. And I will not let myself be like that. I am not a monster.”

“I won’t let you.” Lambert turns to Vesemir. “I won’t let him.”

“Aiden, there is a difference between being controlled by anger, and _controlling_ it.” Vesemir says, undeterred. “You’ve learned to hide from it, but it is still there. Hurting you. You need to learn to…”

“To what?”

“To let go.”

Aiden shakes his head. “I’m not angry.”

“Not about your own parents selling you to the caravan?”

Lambert glares at him. “Back off, Vesemir.”

“They needed the coin.” Aiden says. “They had other children, and I was always making trouble. I was…”

“You. Were. A. _Child_.” Vesemir raises his voice. “Stop defending them.”

Aiden’s breath quickens.

“How many children die in the trials?” Vesemir shouts. “And yet your parents _sold_ you to it for _coin_.”

“I…”

“And when that mob tried to kill you.” Vesemir says.

“ _Stop it_.” Lambert shouts. 

“They...they thought I’d cursed their children. They were afraid and fear…”

“They tried to kill you.” Vesemir says. 

“Vesemir, back off.”

“You were angry.” Vesemir pushes Lambert away, moving closer to Aiden. “You _are_ angry. But you buried it instead of facing it and you’re still burying it. Until you're asleep, and it can take control.”

“No...” Aiden shakes his head. “

“Why did that mob attack you?”

“They were scared.”

“Why did that mob attack you?”

“I...I don’t know.”

"Vesemir?" Triss this time, standing with Jaskier on the edge of the camp.

“Why did that mob attack you.”

“I didn’t even _do_ anything. I was just there.”

“Why?”

“I was there to _help_ them. I was there to get rid of their monsters. I was there to _help_. And they...they…”

“And they treated you like another monster in their midsts.”

Aiden clutches at his side, hand over where Lambert knows he has a scar from a knife wound. “I didn’t do anything…but they...”

“Aiden?” Lambert says, reaching for him. But Aiden flinches away.

“I wanted to fight back but there was...In the ditch, afterwards.” Aiden shakes his head. “I _wanted_ to die.”

“What do you want to do now, Aiden?”

Aiden’s teeth are gritted. “I want to burn them to the ground for what they did to me. I want to slit their throats. I want to tie _them_ to a tree by their _necks_.”

Lambert flinches, swallowing as he sees a side of Aiden that he’s never seen in fifteen years. 

This is a different person in front of him.

“I want to throw them in a ditch like they're _worthless_.” Aiden giggles. “All of them, the men, the women, the children. ALL OF THEM.” Aiden’s scream echoes in the forest.

Lambert’s fists clench, shaking at his sides. "Come on Aiden, I'm getting you out of here."

“I…” Aiden takes a breath. Another breath. "No."

_Hang him. Hang him_

Another breath. A step back. Another breath.

“I want them to burn.” 

“Aiden, we’re leaving.”

“I…”

_Monster._

“Then burn them, Aiden.” Vesemir steps towards him, and holds up his hand. 

The quen bubble surrounds Vesemir, and Aiden’s shivering hand rests on the outside of it, testing its strength.

He nods. "Lambert, get back."

"Aiden…"

"GET BACK." Aiden's eyes are wild, pupils blown. "Please."

"It's alright, Lambert."

Lambert nods, stepping back. "I'm right here.'

Hands shaking as he raises them. Another breath. He closes his eyes.

Lambert steps back again, careful eyes fixed on Aiden. 

"Do it." Vesemir says from behind the quen. "You’ve held on to this pain for over fifty years. Now burn them to the ground, Aiden. Cut them down. Feel your anger, and control it."

_Leave it in the wilds for the ghouls._

He opens his eyes. 

_It. They called him It._

_He had been a boy._

And Aiden screams as he throws fire at Vesemir, screams and pulls in another breath to scream again. The flames surround the bubble, and for a moment Vesemir can’t be seen. 

Triss covers her mouth with her hands. Jaskier just shakes his head, looking away.

Aiden screams and the flames fly from his fingers from both hands, wrapping around the bubble again and again and again. Aiden screams and falls to his knees and the flames fly from his fingers. And then his hands fall to the ground, and he lifts one back up, casting more igni, but it’s getting weaker. And weaker. 

Lambert shakes his head. V _ulnerable, not weak_.

Aiden’s scream is soundless now as he hyperventilates. Sobs. He punches at the quen shield, again, again. Then he is falling sideways and the only thing that stops him hitting the ground is Lambert catching him, quietly holding the now sobbing man against his chest, while holding his hand.

“I hate them.”

“I know.” Lambert whispers. 

At the edge of the camp, Jaskier rests a hand on Triss’s shoulder, and the two friends leave, walking along the forest path. 

“I begged them to stop.” Aiden whispers. 

“I know.”

“I was a boy.”

“I know.”

“I’m not a monster, I’m not a monster I’m not...”

“You’re not a monster.” Lambert looks up at Vesemir. “Got what you wanted, old man?”

Vesemir looks genuinely remorseful, sighing as he kneels down in front of them. The cat witcher flinches slightly before relaxing when Vesemir runs a hand up and down his arm. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Aiden.” Vesemir reaches down to where Lambert is holding Aiden’s hand, and covers both hands with his own. “I deliberately provoked you, and even when angry the first thing you did was check the strength of my shield. Made sure Lambert was a safe distance.” Vesemir sighs. “You’re right, Aiden. You are not a monster. _You_ are a remarkable young man.”

Aiden nods, before turning his face into Lambert’s chest.

Lambert looks away. “Will it help him? Getting the anger out like that.”

“Not straight away.” Vesemir shakes his head. “And the rest of the recovery must be at his _own_ pace. He will need you to guide him. To listen to him. And you're probably going to get very good at casting quen."

Lambert smiles.

"I can advise. I will help where I can.”

“Will it make his nightmares stop?”

Aiden opens his eyes.

"Possibly." Vesemir sighs, looking at Aiden. “I believe it will certainly reduce them, with patience. And maybe, soon, you’ll process your anger. And forgive yourself as well.”

“Forgive himself for what?” 

“For not fighting back.” Vesemir is still looking at Aiden. “For surviving.”

Lambert tightens the embrace, and waits for Aiden to calm down while humming one of Jaskier's tunes.

* * *

Wrapped in a blanket, an exhausted Aiden leans against Lambert’s shoulder as they walk. 

Every now and again, the other Witcher will tighten the embrace for a pulse, or whisper to him. 

“Doing okay?”

Aiden nods, and closes his eyes, trusting Lambert to guide him along the road as he lets himself be vulnerable today. Just for today.

And maybe tomorrow as well. 

Behind them, Jaskier is singing. 

“The pike with the spike that lurks in your drawers.” He sings acapella, his arm strapped to his chest in a sling. “Or the flying drake that will fill you with horror. Need Old Nan the Hag to stir up a…”

“Jas.” Lambert calls over his shoulder. “Aiden has suffered enough.”

Jaskier gulps on the air a couple of times, and then shakes his head. “Well...well...maybe he should walk with me instead of you, then.”

Aiden chuckles at that, and Lambert shakes his head.

They continue walking in silence for a while, then Aiden takes a deep breath.

“Need Old Nan the Hag to stir up a potion.” He sings.

“So that your lady might get an abortion.” Jaskier continues, and Lambert rolls his eyes. 

“I should just fucking ditch you both.” He says. “You deserve each other.”

Jaskier laughs, and Aiden wraps an arm around Lambert’s torso, pulling him closer. Close enough that he can hear Lambert’s heart beating.

* * *

**Dol Blathanna, 1244**

The portal opens, and Vesemir steps out, followed by Triss. 

“I still don’t understand why you would want to come here.” She tightens the shawl around her shoulders as she looks down the snow covered road at their destination.

Or what _was_ going to be their destination. 

“Oh. Well that simplifies matters.” She screws up her face. “That stench.”

“They’re not called rotfiends because they smell of roses, Triss.”

They can hear flies. Crows. And the coughs of rotfiends as they stumble around ruins that, decades ago, were shattered by aard, burned by igni and stained by blood.

A lot of blood. 

Vesemir stops by a tree, noticing the symbols that have been carved into it.

“Eigean evelienn deireadh, Kiyan.” Triss looks at Vesemir. “Everyone must end. A curse?”

“An anathema.” Vesemir says, brushing his fingers along the name ‘Kiyan’ and acknowledging it with a nod. Because while he may not condone what the Cat School did here, he can understand. 

He can completely understand.

He turns his back on the town and walks away.

“You’re leaving the monsters?”

Vesemir keeps walking. “They’re already dead.”

Giving the ruined town one last glance, Triss turns and follows Vesemir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck, this chapter has probably had the most plowing rewrites of anything I have ever written ever.
> 
> Thanks for reading / commenting / kudosing / bookmarking etc. More soon :-) (I'll TRY to be kinder to the characters next chapter, but no promises).


	10. Partner

**Redania, 1244**

They stop at a crossroads town called Lakeside. From here, Jaskier will be making his way to Oxenfurt to meet Geralt, while Lambert and Aiden are planning to head towards Creyden for the autumn.

Being on the main road, the inn is prosperous and large, with an alcove towards the back of the room where the three men quickly retreat, although not before Aiden is able to procure two bottles of wine from the bar.

“Triss told you to take it easy.”

“Please spare me, Lambert.” Aiden is exhausted enough to  _ already _ look drunk as he pours his first goblet. “My liver survived your petri’s philter, I doubt one night of debauchery will finish me off.” He offers the bottle to Lambert, who shakes his head.

Without waiting for an invitation, Jaskier takes the bottle from Aiden and pours his own goblet. Or starts to, until Aiden places his hand over the opening. 

“How old are you?”

“Twenty two.”

He removes his hand, and looks back at Lambert. “I promise to stop drinking the  _ second _ that I feel my internal organs begin to expire.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Jaskier takes another, larger sip. “That’s nice wine.”

“Fiorano, Master Pankratz.” Aiden raises his goblet in a toast. “Erveluce’s flamboyant cousin, and warm memories of a country that I can only see in my dreams.”

“You can’t go to Toussaint.” Jaskier says. “Why?”

“Because if I am ever seen in Beauclair again, they’ll tie rocks to my ankles and throw me into the river.” 

“Actual quote.” Lambert mutters.

“We were celebrating a griffin contract…” Aiden continues telling the story to the smiling bard while Lambert stands, crossing the tavern to stand next to the open set of french doors overlooking the large lake that gives the town its name. 

It isn’t long before he has a companion, a dog that Lambert’s half suspects might actually be a trained bear. He leans against Lambert’s leg, butting his hip until he is given head scratches. 

Until better informed, he decides to call the dog Eskel the Bear.

He sighs as he feels a hand on his shoulder. He knows who it is without looking.

“Are you alright?” Aiden asks, quietly.

“Peachy.” Lambert huffs. “Where's Jas?”

Aiden points with a tip of his goblet, and Lambert looks over his shoulder to see Jaskier, lute in hand, serenading a clearly smitten young elf girl.

Lambert shakes his head before, with a long suffering shrug, taking Aiden’s wine goblet from his hand and sipping. “I took my eyes off him for a second.”

Aiden chuckles as he takes the goblet back. “Well, he won’t want us cramping his style.” He takes a sip. “I’m the wrong side of seventy and you’re...you.”

Lambert glares at him.

“So how about you and I grab the other bottle of this…” He holds up the goblet “...and go to our room.” He winks.

Lambert sighs, and looks away. 

Aiden looks to the side. “To play cards, of course.”

Lambert shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Don’t worry.” Aiden says, his sincerity honest. “If you’re not in the mood, you’re not in the mood. It’s normal. Sometimes I’m not in the mood.”

“ _ When _ ?”

“When I’m fighting Foglets.” Aiden says, straightaway.

Lambert rolls his eyes.

“Now Leshen on the other hand...oh.” He moans as if with ecstasy, and looks into the middle distance. “I think it’s the horns.” He looks at Lambert out of the corner of his eyes. “I just want to grab them and…”

Holding up his hand, Lambert laughs.

“Made you smile.” Aiden says, victorious.

Lambert nods, admitting defeat as he looks down.

“Lambert, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Lambert looks at him, his expression incredulous.

“Clearly this is a ‘you should know’ situation but I’ve had a stressful week and...”

“Stressful?” Lambert says, sharply. “Fuck, Aiden. You nearly  _ died _ . If Jas hadn’t been able to get Merigold…”

“But he did.” Aiden says. “And now I intend to celebrate being alive.”

Lambert sighs, and looks away again, staring out across the lake. 

“It wasn’t my first near death experience. We were  _ just _ discussing Beauclair.”

“I mixed that philter. I gave it to you.  _ I. Nearly. Killed. You _ . On the road I’m supposed to protect you. Look after you. I...I should have....you’re a Witcher, and you nearly died because of a stupid mistake.  _ My  _ stupid mistake.”

Silence settles between them, broken only by Eskel the Bear’s affronted grumble at not having had any recent attention. 

Lambert swallows, and slowly exhales, trying to calm the anger inside of him. 

“If you  _ had  _ died…back there...I...”

“Then I would have expected a grand funeral." He puts his hand on Lambert's shoulder. "My body dressed in a fine gown. Beautiful women lighting my pyre.”

Lambert smiles.

“And with an Elder sermon given by elves.” He sips the wine, and hands the goblet to Lambert.

“We don’t know any elves.” He says before sipping the wine.

“Your bard friend could do it.” 

Lambert looks at him. 

“Can’t you see it?” Aiden says.

He looks back at Jaskier, who is now at the ‘gentle kisses and stroking hands’ stage of his adventure with the elf girl.

“That boy has got Aen Seidhe in him.” Aiden says, while Lambert sips the wine. “And it looks like very soon, they’ll be a bit of him in an Aen Seidhe.”

The younger witcher nearly chokes on the Fiorano, and Aiden laughs as he thumps his back.

“Lambert.” Aiden’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “What happened was not remotely your fault. I  _ understand _ wanting to blame yourself. Without that you have nothing to direct your anger at, because it was  _ just  _ an accident. Blame destiny if you  _ must _ blame someone, direct your anger at...Oh Gods I’m starting to sound like your father.”

“He’s not my father.”

“I like him.” Aiden says. “Do you think he liked me?”

“Hugged you when we said goodbye, didn’t he.”

“A big warm hug it was.” Aiden sits down, wrapping his arms around himself. “He whispered to me, do you know what he said? ‘Look after my boy, Aiden’. He loves you.”

Lambert shrugs.

“I want a Vesemir.” Aiden says, looking at the floor. “Do you think he'd adopt me if I asked?”

“No.” Lambert holds up his finger.

“Why not?” Aiden says, a childish pout on his face. 

“Because if my father adopts you then you’d be my brother  _ and  _ my life partner, and that would be fucked up and…” Lambert closes his eyes. “I just called him my father.”

When Aiden doesn’t say anything, Lambert opens his eyes to find the sitting Witcher looking at him with a strange expression on his face. 

The cat witcher stands, and steps through the french doors to look at the lake.

“My dear Witchers.” Jaskier announces as he approaches them, the elf girl on his arm. 

Lambert turns to face them, while Aiden stays looking at the lake. 

“I and the lovely Shauri shall now be retiring to my room. I bid you goodnight.”

“Shauri.” Lambert nods at the elf, then grabs the bard by the scruff of his neck. “Can I have a second with him?” 

He turns so that they both have their back to the girl, and pulls a small bottle from his pocket. 

“Why do you have  _ that _ in your pocket?”

“Because I know you.” Lambert says.

“But maybe I  _ want _ baby bards.”

Lambert glares at him, but it softens when Jaskier pulls an identical bottle from his own pocket. 

“Oh look, we used the same herbalist.”

“Have fun, Jas.” He pushes him back towards the girl, who smiles as she wraps an arm around him. “You too, Shauri.”

“Master Witcher.” She giggles, and let’s Jaskier lead her away.

Putting the bottle back in his pocket, Lambert steps through the french window to stand next to Aiden.

The older witcher still has that strange look on his face.

“Aiden?”

He exhales, slowly, and turns to look at Lambert. 

“You said Life Partner.”

Lambert is confused for a second, and then realisation dawns. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

And Aiden smiles.

* * *

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

“Keira?” Lambert looks around the seemingly empty bedroom, before settling his gaze on the skull in the corner of the room. 

“Hate this creepy thing.” He says to himself as he lays his hand over it. And sure enough, a portal opens.

He steps through into the small forest glade beyond, with a tower at its centre. 

"Ah Lambert." Keira calls. "I was  _ just _ starting to miss you. I’m upstairs."

He chuckles as he climbs the tower, removing his shirt along the way. At the top of the stairs is a large bathtub built into the building. 

Sat in the bath, Keira is running water through her hair as she looks at him, a smile on her face. “Good evening.”

He sheds the rest of his clothing at the side of the tub, unable to resist the slight gasp as he slips into the water. It’s the perfect temperature, as it always is.

“All packed?” He says, his eyes closed as he relaxes. 

“Of course.” Keira nods. “I didn’t bother packing anything for you. You have more belongings at Geralt’s than you do here.”

“I guess I am slowly moving in.”

“Moving in?” Keira laughs. “You live  _ there _ . You visit me.”

Lambert opens one eye. “You like having room for your experiments.”

“True. But your pleasant company  _ can  _ make it worth having you under my feet at times.”

“Only at times?”

She moves towards him, a leg either side of his outstretched ones as she kneels on his lap. “I may be doing you a disservice.”

They kiss, hands finding each other under the water and raising up together.

Keira’s hand has one ring.

Lambert’s has two. 

* * *

* * *

**Ellander, 1249**

“A ring?”

“Vesemir said that they symbolise commitment and devotion.” Lambert holds up his hand, his ring already in place. “Because circles are never ending and…eternal.”

“You asked your  _ father  _ for advice on anniversary gifts?”

“He’s not my father. And...yes.”

Aiden smiles as Lambert takes the ring from the box and puts it on the witcher’s finger. 

“Twenty years.” Aiden says, eyes fixed on the ring.

“Happy Anniversary.” Lambert says, smiling.


	11. Hummingbird

**Crookback Bog, 1255**

“We’re lost.” Aiden complains.

“We’re not lost.” Lambert argues. “Sun’s behind us, so we know we’re heading east.”

“I have pond water in my boots.” Aiden says. “I think there is a spider crawling up my leg, at least I fucking _hope_ it’s a spider and…”

“Will you Stop. Whining.”

“We could have gone to Oxenfurt. Contracts in Oxenfurt. Taverns in Oxenfurt. But _no_ , Lambert had to go and continue his one man mission to be responsible for the extinction of the endrega species. You know, maybe that’s why we can’t find them _this_ year. You’ve succeeded. Well done.”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “You could have gone to Oxenfurt on your own.”

“And lay awake worrying about you drowning in a bog.”

Lambert looks at him. 

“Oh don’t give me that face.” Aiden shakes moisture from one leg, then the other. Then he closes his eyes. “That _better_ be a spider.”

“Want me to check?” Lambert smirks, and Aiden opens one eye. 

“We are in a bog, Lambert. Even _I_ have standards.”

Lambert chuckles, then falls quiet as he looks over his shoulder. “You hear that?”

The sound again, a cry in the otherwise eerie silence. 

“Sounds like a child.” Aiden is already running before Lambert can grab him. 

“Aiden wait.” Lambert draws his silver sword as he runs. “Why would a child be in the middle of a bog? It’s gonna be foglets…”

“Willing to take that risk?”

“Yes.”

Aiden shakes his head. “I’m not.”

They follow the sound to a cliff edge, high enough that they can see right over the canopy of the swamp below. 

“Ah, greetings noble whoever-you-are. Care one of you for a rope or ladder?”

The...it looks like a child...is currently standing rather precariously on a ledge about ten feet below them. 

Lambert crosses his arms as he regards the Godling. “How’d you get down there, Kid?”

“Was helping the blackbird back to her nest.” He points at a tree branch overhanging the cliff. “Little thing was too young to fly, but she kept trying. Told her she needs to wait for her Mum to be around but she didn’t listen. Then once she was back home I went to climb back down but slipped and landed here. And ain’t no hand holds where I am now.”

“No blackbird, either.” Aiden says, 

“Oh she’s long gone.”

They look at eachother, and then back at the Godling. “How long have you been down there?”

“Seen the full moon more than once.” He points at the sky. 

Lambert is already taking off his swords. 

“I’m taller than you.” He says to Aiden as he lays on the ground, slowly moving himself towards the edge and then, as soon as Aiden has a good hold of his ankles, letting his centre of gravity tip him down. 

“Alright kid. Jump up.”

The Godling does so, grabbing each of Lambert’s hands with his own on the second attempt. As soon as he has a good hold, Lambert lifts until the boy is level with his head. “Climb.”

Grabbing the back of Lambert’s coat, the boy does exactly that. 

As soon as Lambert sees him pass over the edge, he sighs and shouts up. “Aiden.”

He feels a pull at his legs, helping it along by pushing against the rock face as Aiden drags him back up, first by the ankles, then by the belt. 

Laid on his back, Lambert waits for the strain to fade in his arms while, to his left, the Godling is spinning in a circle. 

“Space and running and jumping and forward rolls.” He does a cartwheel. “Many thanks to you kind and noble sirs. I will repay you with kind thoughts each sunset.”

“I can think of a better way to pay back the favour.” Aiden kneels down so that he is eye level with the boy. “My friend here is looking for an endrega nest.”

“Endregas moved up into Hummingbird’s cave.”

Lambert nods. “Hummingbird is...?”

“A hummingbird.”

Aiden smiles, fondly. “Any chance of directions?”

“Can do better, sir. I will walk that way and you follow me.” The Godling is already walking as Aiden reaches down, helping Lambert to stand before picking up his swords for him. 

“To what names should I be calling you noble sirs?”

“He’s Aiden. I’m Lambert.” He nods towards the boy. “You?”

They brace themselves for an unpronounceable mouthful. 

“Johnny.”

Aiden blinks. “Johnny?”

“Johnny.” The Godling confirms, still walking.

Aiden opens his travel bag, pulling out some soup in a flask. “You must be hungry if you’ve been on that ledge all that time.”

“Thank you.” The boy opens the flask and gulps noisily, before slurping the last dregs and wiping his mouth clean with his bare arm. He hands the flask back to Aiden, who quietly puts it back in his bag.

Lambert smirks. “You thirsty?”

“Been drinking the rain.” Johnny opens his mouth and looks up at the sky. “Better than pond water. Don’t have to worry about drowners having made more drowners in it.”

Lambert makes a mental note to _never_ drink pond water ever again.

“So why are you hunting endrega.” Johnny asks. “I wouldn’t recommend the meat. I tried it once. Woke up three days later in another part of the swamp, and don’t know what I did but the crow that lives up near the trail still isn’t speaking to me.”

“I need potion ingredients.” Lambert says, matter of factly. 

Aiden knows that that’s a lie, but says nothing. 

“Potions are...Apples.” Johnny points at the tree, scrambling at the base but slipping until Aiden picks him up, sitting the Godling on his shoulders so that he can reach. He hands one down to the Witcher, then takes one for himself.

And the dreams hit Lambert like arrows. The image of another boy passing Aiden an apple. The boy in their camp, growing up in safety. Growing up loved. 

The scars on his face sting. 

“Lambert, catch.” Aiden throws the apple at the Witcher, and he catches it even though he is only half concentrating. 

Johnny climbs down from Aiden’s shoulders, happily munching on his apple as he leads the witchers through the swamp.

How long has it been? Lambert tries to do the maths as he walks. The boy would be a man now, maybe a witcher like his...like his fathers. Or maybe something else, a farmer or a merchant. A bard, if Jaskier had any influence. 

It wouldn’t have mattered. He would have been alive. 

He can’t bring himself to eat the apple. He drops it to the ground when neither of his companions are looking. 

“Up this hill here.” Johnny is saying, climbing up the hill with his hands and feet while the witcher’s walk up behind him, Aiden reaching the top first and then reaching down to pull Lambert up the rest of the way. 

“You’re getting fatter.” He says, lightly. 

“Like you can talk.” Lambert says, patting the other witcher’s stomach. “How much further, Johnny.”

“There’s Hummingbird there.” Johnny points. “HEY, HU…” 

He stops shouting as Aiden’s hand clamps over his mouth, the Witcher as good as lifting him off the ground as they dart behind a tree.

“That’s not a hummingbird.” Lambert hisses. “It’s a Cockatrice.”

Johnny mumbles into Aiden’s hand, and the Witcher lets go.

“I thought he was a bit big, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so.”

Lambert looks at Aiden, who shrugs.

* * *

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

Lambert and Keira are greeted at the entrance of Corvo Bianco by the stable hands, who quickly take their horses. More servants take the saddle bags and follow the couple up to the main house.

The front door is open, and as they approach three tiny figures burst through it, shouting and laughing as they chase each other around the yard in front of the house. 

“Let’s go hunt snails.” Johnny shouts, pointing at the meadow. 

“We shouldn’t.” Sarah shakes her head. “The nice vampire told us not to get dirty before lunch.”

“But nature is full of dirt. How are we supposed to stay clean outside?”

“We could play inside.” Sarah suggests.

The third figure, a small elf boy with purple eyes, points at the trees and makes a climbing motion with his hands.

“Oh yes.” Sarah claps. “There’s no dirt in trees.”

“You kids being good?” Lambert calls as they approach the house. 

But as usual, it isn’t him that they are glad to see.

“Keira.” Sarah calls as all three run up to the sorceress. “Did you bring the pretty lights?”

“Yes, but we’ll need to wait for night.” 

“Can you make it night now?” Johnny asks.

Keira laughs. “Patience, you three. Now go tell Geralt we’ve arrived.”

Johnny and Sarah run back into the house, while the elf boy turns to Lambert, pointing at his eye and then at the witcher. 

Lambert repeats the gesture. “Good to see you too, Regis.”

He points at his mouth and stomach, and Lambert nods. 

“Yes, we’re staying for food.” He nods. Then he taps the side of his own forehead twice, before tapping two fingers on his left hand with two fingers from his right. “I need to speak to your parents?”

The boy smiles, and then runs back into the house.

“He’s getting tall.” Keira says as Lambert retrieves a small sword from the saddlebag, nodding his thanks to the servant as he does so.

With the sword in his hand, he follows Keira into the house.

* * *

* * *

**Kaedwen, 1266**

After the battle of Sodden Hill, Yennefer of Vengerberg had retreated to the only safe place she could think of. A humble townhouse on the edge of Rinde, and the elf who lived there. 

And she retreated to her dream. A dream that had eventually led Yennefer to an elderly Pellar Witch in Dol Angra.

It was a year of medicines and treatments, many of them painful. But Yennefer has never let pain be a barrier in her life.

And then the morning. The morning when Yennefer loses her breakfast to a chamber pot in the corner of their room, and she just knows. 

She _knows_. 

She smiles as she looks at Chireadan. And he knows too. 

* * *

Nine months later, Yennefer and Chireadan leave for Kaer Morhen, Yennefer wanting her child to be born within the fortress walls, but not wanting to risk a portal in her condition. 

By chance or maybe destiny, they meet Lambert and Aiden on the road, and it is quickly agreed that they will travel together, Chireadan welcoming the escort with Yennefer so heavily pregnant.

Unfortunately, the child has its mother's stubbornness, and doesn’t want to wait for Kaer Morhen before it sees the world.

* * *

They quickly set up the bedroll, Aiden building a fire while Yennefer lays on her back, moaning through another contraction. 

“Soon.” Chireadan strokes her hair, then starts to make his way towards where Lambert is currently kneeling in front of Yennefer’s bent legs.

“Oh no.” Lambert raises a hand, stopping Chireadan in his tracks. “You stay at that end with _her_ . ” He points at Yennefer’s head, then points down. “You’ve already done your job at _this_ end.”

Yennefer kicks Lambert in the arm, and then cries out as another contraction hits.

“Um...do we know what we’re doing?” Aiden says quietly. 

“I know what I’m doing.” Lambert says, as much to himself as to Aiden. 

“You do?”

“Me and Geralt have done this before.” Lambert says. 

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“And the child survived?” Aiden asks.

“You’ve met her.” Lambert looks at him. “Roach.”

“ROACH IS A HORSE!!!” Aiden and Chireadan both shout at the same time. 

“I know what I’m doing.” Lambert argues, getting a clean blanket ready while Yennefer suffers through another contraction.

“Aiden. Warm water, a towel, and a clean knife.”

“Why do you need a knife?”

“Aiden!”

“Warm water, a towel, and a clean knife.” Aiden nods as he goes to their supplies. 

“Hey, you thought about names?” Lambert says as he empties the contents of his water skin over his hands. 

Yennefer nods. “If it’s a girl, Serianna, after Chireadan’s sister.”

Chireadan smiles. “And if it is a boy, Regis.”

Lambert nods. “Good names.”

“Right warm water, and more igni ready if it gets cold. A clean knife.” Aiden lowers his voice to a whisper. “Regis?”

“I’ll explain later.” Lambert whispers back as he takes the water bowl and places it to one side.

“Yen.” Chireadan is saying, his hand around Yennefer’s while the other rests on her brow. “Each time you feel the need to push, use all of your strength. You have _so_ much strength.” He smiles. “I love you.”

She screams through another contraction, and then looks at Chireadan. “They’re nearly here.”

He nods. “They’re nearly here.”

Lambert looks, and his eyes widen. “Oh fuck, they’re nearly here. _Aiden_ , where’s that towel?”

“Here.” Aiden hands the towel to Lambert, and then looks left and right before moving up to sit on Yennefer’s other side, holding the hand that Chireadan isn’t.

The two men make eye contact. 

And Yennefer nearly breaks their hands as she screams.

And finally, the screams are drowned out by a baby's cry.

“Are they alright? Are they…”

Lambert nods, completely focused on the tiny infant in his hands as he checks it over. 

The baby fits in his _hands_.

“Ah...two arms, two legs, a head.” Aiden nods as he checks off each item. “What is _that_?”

“ _That_ is why I need the knife.” Lambert lays the child on the towel and holds up said blade. “Chireadan, you want the honour?”

“Yes.” He looks at Yennefer, who nods, and then moves down, swapping places with Aiden who takes Yennefer’s hand again. 

“Well done, my dear.”

“The spine?” Yennefer says. “Aiden, did you see the spine?”

“Um...well, no, but I assume it’s there.”

“He’s fine Yennefer.” Chireadan says as he and Lambert quickly clean the baby, before wrapping him in the blanket. Chireadan then passes the boy to his mother. “See?”

“He?” Yennefer whispers. “A boy. Oh, he’s...he’s…” She smiles through tears at the healthy baby boy. The spine and face are without deformity, not that Yennefer would have rejected him had it been otherwise. Because he is _hers_ , with his tiny little hands, elvish ears and bright violet eyes.

She did it. 

“Hello, Regis.” She holds a tiny hand in her fingers. “Hello.”

Quietly, Lambert sits back, looking down at his own suddenly empty hands.

He only half feels Aiden take a hold of his shoulder. 

“I think our work here is done.” He says, guiding Lambert away. “Do you need to sit down?”

Lambert nods, and his knees fold. 

“You need to sit down _right_ here. Alright. It’s alright.”

And Lambert is senseless. 

Because he had just held something so pure, innocent and special. And he would never hold something like that again.

Because destiny stole _that_ from him too. 

“You were amazing back there.” Aiden is saying.

The scars on his face hurt. 

“Hey. Yennefer found a way. Maybe you can as well.”

Lambert nods.

Some time later, Chireadan approaches them, the blanket wrapped baby in his arms. 

“Regis would like to meet his uncles.”

Lambert nods as he accepts the bundle. Aiden leans against the wolf’s shoulder, and they both look into the violet eyes of the infant. 

“He is perfect.” Aiden says to Chireadan.

Chireadan smiles. “Thank you for helping to bring him to us.”

Aiden waves at the infant, smiling. 

Lambert just stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos / comments :-D


	12. Families

**Kaer Morhen, 1266**

“Yennefer.” Ciri, dressed in her training armour, runs down to the keep yard and stops, eyes wide as she looks at the tiny bundle nestled in Yennefer’s arms. 

“The baby.”

“Ciri, this is your new little brother, Regis.” Yennefer carefully passes the infant to his sister, and the sixteen year old tilts him up, resting her forehead against his. 

The baby grabs at her long ashen hair, and gurgles with happiness.

Stood on the walkway above the yard, Vesemir chuckles as he watches. “It would appear that Ciri is no longer our youngest.”

Eskel shakes his head. “They...mostly just sleep at that age, right?”

Geralt makes a hmmm noise. 

“Who's that with Lambert?” Eskel says, indicating the...it’s a Witcher, eyes wide as he looks around the keep, medallion clear against a dark red shirt. 

“Cat school.” Geralt says. “Aiden?”

Eskel nods. “Must be.”

Vesemir slowly makes his way to the yard, and smiles. 

“Congratulations to you both.” He rests a hand on Yennefer’s shoulder as he greets her and Chireadan. Then he walks past them, his smile wider. “Aiden, young man. You look well.” 

He pulls the witcher into a hug that instantly reassures their new guest of how welcome he is, before turning to Lambert.

“Welcome home.” He pats the youngest wolf on the arm. “I’m glad you _finally_ brought him.”

“I...kind of…” Aiden stutters, actually stutters, and it clues Lambert in to just how overwhelmed the older witcher is feeling. “We were focused on the baby, and protecting the baby, and then I was too far along the path to turn back so…”

Vesemir silences his rambling explanation with a raised hand. “As I told you _two_ years ago, Aiden. You will always have a home at Kaer Morhen.”

Now stood behind Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel are both nodding.

“Right. Rooms.” He turns back to Yennefer and Chireadan. “I won’t have you in the tent this year, not with a newborn.”

“Something tells me we won’t be spending much time with our son.” Chireadan quips, indicating where the infant is currently the centre of attention between Ciri, Triss and Jaskier, all three of whom seem to have forgotten that anyone else exists in the world.

Vesemir chuckles. “Let’s get you settled.” 

Then, to Lambert’s surprise, he puts an arm around Aiden’s shoulders and leads him through the keep, the cat looking over his shoulder at his partner as he is as good as dragged away.

And Lambert smiles.

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

“I hate it when they play this game.” Yennefer says with a low voice.

Keira tilts her head to the side. “Is he getting ready to shoot her?”

Ciri stands confidently in front of the archery target, her sword drawn and her eyes fixed on Chireadan’s arrow as he readies it, and shoots.

Ciri swings, slicing the arrow out of the air. The two halves land on the ground.

Standing behind Chireadan, Regis jumps up and down with excitement while his father readies another arrow.

“Getting bored over here, Old Man.” Ciri calls with both her voice and her hands, and Regis giggles.

Chireadan narrows his eyes, and nods.

“I am going to kill them both.” Yennefer says.

With a speed that even Lambert has trouble keeping up with, Chireadan suddenly readies and shoots five arrows, one after the other. And Ciri hits each but the last one, which she dodges with a dash so fast that she seems to teleport through the air, leaving blue light for the arrow to pass through before it embeds itself in the target behind her.

“Still bored, little one?” 

“Oh it’s on.” Ciri stands up straight, and returns to her place in front of the target. “Throw ten at me, Old Man.”

“With fire.” Yennefer mutters. “I am going to kill them with fire.”

Chireadan looks at Regis, saying something with his hands that makes the boy laugh, and then looks at Ciri. 

He starts shooting arrows, and of the ten, only two make it to the target. 

Ciri looks at the target, and clicks her fingers in frustration. “Damn.”

Lambert chuckles, then winses as his shoulder knots. Fucking Pale Widows. He rubs at it with his hand, grimacing slightly.

“Oh let me.” Yennefer says, no nonsense as she grabs an empty chair and puts it in front of Lambert’s chair. “Sit backwards on that.”

He does so, knowing better than to say no to the woman. Although he wonders if he should regret his obedience as, in front of Keira, Yennefer starts to rub his shoulders and back. 

“You are _far_ too tense.” Yennefer says as she works. 

“Your hands are all over me. And your husband is holding a bow.”

Yennefer chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll give you a head start.”

“I’ve seen him hit a deer between the eyes from a quarter of a mile away.” Lambert is planning to say more, but then Yennefer hits _that_ knot just beside his shoulder blade and thinking becomes a difficult task all of the sudden. 

He closes his eyes, and Keira gently tilts his head to rest on his arms against the chair back.

“You really must teach _me_ how to do that, Yen.” She says while watching her friend work.

“ _This_ style I learned at a bathhouse in Aedirn. Sometimes I include my own techniques as well.” She smirks at Keira. “Depending on the customer.”

“He is holding a bow.” Lambert reminds her, and both women chuckle, before Yennefer looks back at her family.

“Oh I see it is Regis’s turn to show off.”

“Chireadan's not going to shoot him too is he?” Lambert mutters. 

“He knows what I’ll do to him if he tries.”

Ciri kneels in front of Regis and puts a blindfold on the boy.

“But...” Keira looks at Yennefer.

“Don’t worry.” She reassures her friend as Chireadan places Regis’s new sword in his hand, and steps back. 

Lambert looks up.

Her sword in her own hand, Ciri approaches the boy, occasionally zig zagging left and right to mix up her direction of attack. Although she doesn’t need to, she is out of instinct rolling her feet from toe to heel on each step she takes.

Lambert smiles. 

_Can you teach me, Aiden? How to move silently like that?_

She slowly swings, and Regis blocks it. 

She quickly swings, and Regis blocks it. 

Regis blocks a third swing, and raises his blindfold to smile at Ciri. 

Lambert blinks. “He just did that while deaf and blind.”

“How?” Keira looks from the yard to Yennefer. "How?”

“We’re not sure.” Yennefer smiles, fondly. “Triss thinks that Regis is somehow able to 'read' the chaos around him. Until he is old enough to understand his own power though, we can’t say for certain.”

“Nevertheless, it is incredible.” Keira nods. “Yen, your son is a potential Aen Saevherne. If he already has that awareness of chaos at eight years old, then with training he could be a powerful mage.”

“Except he wants to be a witcher.” Yennefer says. “For which I completely blame his sister.”

Keira laughs. “With Ciri as his mentor, he will be a formidable Witcher.”

Lambert thinks about the cat school medallion in his pocket.

In the yard, Regis and Ciri begin a mock sword fight.

“Ciri is starting a new school.” Yennefer explains. “It’s a few ideas in a notebook between her and Eskel at the moment, but it has promise. The School of the Swallow. Concentrating on physical and magical training. 

“No more mutations. No more trials. And no more lone witchers on the path. The Swallow school will encourage partnerships and hanzas. And initiates will be allowed to retain ties with their families.”

“They got a potion master?” Lambert asks. 

“I don’t believe so.”

“Well then I formally volunteer Lambert.” Keira says before the Witcher can speak again. “His alchemy skills are beyond compare.”

“A compliment from Keira Metz.” Yennefer leans down. “What have you done to her?”

Lambert smiles. 

“Comfortable, Lambert?” Geralt calls as he approaches the patio with a tray of snacks. 

“You had your chance.” Lambert calls back, a comment that earns him a flick behind the ear from Yennefer before she continues working on the massage.

He closes his eyes, and let’s his mind float.

_I feel like family._

* * *

**Kaer Morhen, 1266**

Her eyes covered with a blindfold, Ciri has only her hearing to guide her as Eskel approaches with a sword. 

He swings and she blocks. Swings and she blocks again. A third swing, and she knocks the sword from his hand.

Yennefer applauds, delighted. “Well done, Ciri.”

Lambert is sat up with the books. Beside him, Aiden is sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, watching the sword fighting practice. 

Eskel turns to them. “How about you, Aiden. Let’s see some feline techniques on display.”

“Um…” Aiden looks at Lambert, and then back at Eskel. “Alright.” He stands, taking his silver sword from its scabbard before jumping down into the hall. 

He bows at Ciri, and she smiles before putting the blindfold back on.

Lambert watches as Aiden moves, zig zagging until he is behind Ciri, but not making a sound. Then he stands still, statue still.

He quickly slides his foot against the stone of the floor, and Ciri tenses, turning to ‘look’ over her shoulder, sword ready.

He slowly moves round, but she doesn’t hear it.

Aiden darts forward, and cuts the button that has been haphazardly attached to her armour, and Ciri lifts the blindfold, looking from the button on the floor to Aiden. 

“Well, you just beat Ciri at her own game.” Eskel says. “I hope you’re a light sleeper.”

“Can you teach me, Aiden?” Ciri looks at him in awe. “How to move silently like that?” 

“Um, yes. It’s not magic or anything, you just make a rolling motion with your foot as you walk.” He slowly demonstrates, and Ciri watches and copies him.

Stood behind Aiden, Geralt also copies him.

Lambert leans against the bannister, and enjoys watching Aiden settle into his family. 

_Their_ family.

Vesemir enters the room. “Aiden, young man. Come with me.”

Lambert jumps down from his perch, following the two witchers through the Keep. If Vesemir notices him then he doesn’t let on as he opens a door at the far end of the corridor where Triss’s room is, standing aside and inviting Aiden to step in. 

“I know you’ll probably be sharing with Lambert while you stay here, _but_ I thought you might appreciate a place of your own to retreat to, if you need it.”

“My...my own?”

Vesemir nods, and hands Aiden a key. “This room is yours. I’ve readied a change of clothes on the bed and the bath is warm. Clean off some of the path, you’ll feel...Aiden?”

Lambert can’t see Aiden, but he can hear the hitch in his voice.

“Sorry, it’s just...I’ve...I’ve never had my _own_ room before. Tents in the caravan or tavern rooms or...but this...this is _just_ mine.”

Vesemir nods. 

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be serving food in an hour.”

Lambert waits for Vesemir to leave, then steps out of his hiding place and into the doorframe.

“Can I come in?”

Aiden turns to look at him. 

“He gave me a room.”

“He gave you a room.” Lambert nods. “You feeling alright?”

“I feel like family.” Aiden smiles. 

Lambert indicates the bathtub with a nod. “Want a hand with your hair?”

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

Lambert looks around the doorframe to find a vampire sitting in one of the soft sofas in the room, a book in his hands.

He knocks. “Is this the Worn Out Introverts meetup?”

The vampire laughs as he invites Lambert to sit on the opposite sofa with a nod. 

Lambert takes a moment to study the bookshelf, picking up a book about fermentation techniques and sitting down with it. “How have you been, Bat-Regis?”

“I am keeping well.” Emiel Regis, the namesake of Yennefer and Chireadan’s son, looks up and acknowledges the question with a tilt of his head. “Yourself?”

“Just finished a contract near Pomerol. Pale Widow.”

“Well done.” Regis nods. “And how is the future Mrs Maribor?”

“Actually, I’ve decided to use _her_ surname after the ceremony.”

“Avant-garde, Mr Metz.”

Lambert chuckles. “She’s good. I’ll let _her_ tell you more, but she’s close to a safe vaccine for Catriona Plague."

“Then she is changing life for everyone on the continent.” Regis says with awe. “Exceptional.”

“Yeah, she is.” Lambert looks away for a moment, pride putting a smile on his face that he can’t control.

“And yes.” Regis is saying. “I would of course be very interested in discussing her research.” 

“I’ll let her know.” Lambert opens the book. “How’s your brother? He’s not here?”

“No.” Regis shakes his head. “He was of course invited to this delightful meetup, but alas Dettlaff had other business in anywhere except Toussaint.”

Lambert laughs. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

“But he is well, thank you.”

They settle into a companionable silence, enjoying their books and neither saying anything when two godlings sneak into the room, Johnny curling up in Lambert’s lap while Sarah curls up with Regis for their afternoon naps.

The two men smile, each resting a protective hand on their Godling’s arm and continuing to read.

Lambert thinks that it feels like home.

_I feel like family._

Lambert swallows back his emotion, and tries to focus on the book.

He can’t remember the subject.

* * *

**Kaer Morhen, 1266**

Lambert finds Aiden curled up on his side on his own bed, in his own room, with an infant on the pillow beside him. 

A pencil has been wedged into the carved pattern of the headboard, and dangling from it, just out of reach of the baby, is a cat school medallion. 

The little half-elf boy is fascinated, reaching up at the medallion and gurgling as it gently spins above him.

Smiling, Lambert sits on Aiden’s bed and gently taps the medallion to make it spin faster, much to the delight of the infant below it. While Regis is entertained by that, Lambert rests a hand on Aiden’s arm, and the witcher opens his eyes, looking at Lambert with a smile. 

The little boy isn’t their son. But he is theirs in this moment. 

And he is safe. And protected. And loved. And he will learn how to wield a sword.

He will never be afraid of the world. 

It doesn’t stop Lambert’s scars from stinging. But the hurt is less.

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

In the forest clearing, in the tower, Lambert sits three steps down from the floor with the bathtub.

The blue ribbon in his hand is starting to fray slightly at one end, too much time spent in a pocket. 

On one corner, darkened by age, is a spot of dry blood.

He hears the portal open in the forest clearing below, and footsteps on the stairs. 

“Ah there you are.” Keira says. “Bat-Regis assumed that ‘tell Keira I’m in the skull’ was a metaphor for something.”

Lambert’s face falls, and he looks down. 

“Lambert.” Keira looks from Lambert to the ribbon. “You can tell me.” 

“Time for one last story?” Lambert says, holding the ribbon up. 

“Lambert?” Keira swallows. “Is that a wedding ribbon?”

He nods.

“You and Aiden…” She puts a hand to her chest as she sits beside him. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She kisses his forehead.

Lambert looks at her. “You were right. I can’t pretend that he never existed, not anymore. He deserves better.”

Keira nods.

“It’s just…” His fists tightens around the ribbon. “Sometimes it fucking hurts.”

“I know.” Keira encourages Lambert’s head down onto her shoulder, stroking his hair as he grips the ribbon against his chest. “But yesterday, when you were telling me your stories, you kept smiling. He still makes you smile, Lambert. And eventually, as time goes on, you’ll only ever smile when you remember him. I promise.”

He closes his eyes, relaxing against her.

“One last story?” She taps the ribbon.

Lambert nods. “It was…” And then his voice cracks.

“Shhh.” Keira encourages his head down to her lap, and Lambert takes a breath. 

“I laid like this with Jaskier, afterwards.”

“Afterwards?”

“Aiden and me.” Lambert looks at the ribbon. “Vesemir married us. The day that Aiden…The day that he died...”

Keira closes her eyes, and listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapter will be the "Very Bad Thing".
> 
> Oh boy...


	13. Of Our Last Night

_Aiden was supposed to meet me at Passiflora, but he wasn’t there. So I went to the place where he was meeting his contract patreon first. Triss and Vesemir were in Novigrad so I got them to go with me, and maybe I knew...somehow. Maybe that’s why I got them. I don’t remember._

_Aiden wasn’t at the meeting point._

_He was at the bottom of the cliff next to it._

* * *

**Novigrad, 1272**

“There’s poison in the arrow wound.” Triss shakes her head. “Whoever did this knew that they were killing a Witcher. His mutagens are turning toxic. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Don’t _say that_.” Lambert shouts.

“Lambert.” Vesemir whispers.

And Aiden opens his eyes.

“Aiden?” Lambert whispers.

“Jad…” Aiden coughs. “Jad Karadin.”

“Did he do this?”

Aiden nods, his eyes screwing shut.

“I’ll kill him.”

Aiden opens his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Lambert shakes his head. “I should have been there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.” Aiden grits his teeth as a wave of pain passes over him. “You...you’re not dying too.”

“You’re not dying.”

"Don't…" Aiden coughs. "Jad. When you...Don't go alone."

"He won't." Vesemir's voice is stern.

“Aiden.” Triss says. “I’m sorry I can’t do more. But...but I can do this.”

Triss holds out her hand, and a small circle of magic appears over Aiden, reflecting what can be seen below. 

“Seidhe.” She whispers.

And as he watches his own reflection, his eyes turn green.

He smiles, breath escaping him in a small, surprised laugh as the green eyes, the _human_ eyes, turn to look at Lambert.

“They’re beautiful.” Lambert whispers. 

Aiden’s hand twitches, his face contouring with the effort of moving it. It is Vesemir who lifts the hand, adding to Aiden’s strength, guiding it to cup the side of Lambert’s face.

His signal. Because Aiden always asks first.

Taking the hand from Vesemir, Lambert nods and leans forward, kissing Aiden’s lips, his cheek, his forehead. 

“Lambert?”

"I'm here." He grabs both of Aiden's hands, holding them to his chest. “I’m here. I look after you and you look after me.”

“Would you have married me?” Aiden whispers. “If I’d asked?”

“Yes.” Lambert nods.

“He’s your father....”

And for the first time ever, Lambert doesn’t correct him. He just nods, and looks at Vesemir.

Her jaw trembling with the effort to keep her own emotions in check, Triss carefully reaches forward and presses a thumb against Lambert and Aiden’s foreheads.

When her hands move away, they leave a blue mark on each forehead. A blue that matches the ribbon she pulls from her black hair and passes to Vesemir before, with a whisper, bringing a flame to her hand. Like a candle.

As a healer, there is nothing she can do for Aiden. 

Except this.

Vesemir gently takes Lambert's hand, guiding it out to hover over Aiden's chest before resting the fallen Witcher's own hand upon it. Then he wraps the blue ribbon around them, pulling it tight. 

“Lambert. Aiden.” Vesemir’s voice is soft. “With my blessing, I thee bind.”

And they share their first kiss as husbands.

Aiden is smiling when Lambert looks at his face again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“ _My_ wolf.” And Aiden’s green eyes look at their bound hands. “My Lambert.”

His eyes seem to glow, then they become unfocused. His lips relax. The hand bound to Lambert’s hand goes limp. 

And Lambert’s name is Aiden’s last word. 

Lambert squeezes his eyes shut. If he can shut the world out for long enough, if he can make this a dream. A nightmare. If he can just wake up. 

Wake up. 

Wake up.

 _Wake up_. 

Aiden’s eyes are still open, still green. Still such a beautiful, deep green.

He died with everyone seeing _his_ eyes.

_I was a child, before all this Witcher nonsense. I was and am human. I am not, at my core, the monster that they want me to be_

Sighing, Vesemir gently closes Aiden’s eyes, before resting a hand on the witcher’s forehead. “Sleep now, son. You’re at the end of your path.”

Wake up. 

Wake up. 

Lambert grabs Aiden’s medallion, pulling it hard enough to break the chain. 

“JAD KARADIN.” He shouts at the top of the cliff. “Where are you, you BASTARD?” He draws his sword.

Vesemir places a hand on his arms. “Lambert.”

“Get the _fuck_ OF ME.” Lambert shouts, struggling against Vesemir’s grip. “KARADIN!”

Vesemir’s arms wrap around Lambert, pinning him with his back to the older witcher’s chest.

“KARADIN! I’LL FIND YOU, YOU _BASTARD_ . I’LL FUCKING _BURN_ YOU. I’LL…I’ll…” His knees can’t hold his weight anymore. “I’ll…”

Wake up. 

“I’ve got you, my boy. I’ve got you.”

Wake up. 

Wake up.

“I’ve got you.”

Lambert shakes his head. “I’ll kill you, you ba....” And he’s gone. A bucket filled with hot, scalding oil that overflows his brain and spine and he can’t breath or think. He’s cold. His head hurts. He can’t think. He’s going to tear the bastard apart. And Jad’s friends. He’s going to burn them all. He's cold.

It hurts.

Wake up.

Vesemir guides him to sit on the ground, leant against the oldest Witcher's chest.

Wake up.

It hurts.

Wake up.

Lambert’s eyes flutter as his brain resets, his emotions a cornucopia with no focus. He just wants to fall asleep. But...but there’s something else. There’s something else. What...he has to do something first…

Wake up.

“Vesemir. We can’t stay here.” Triss kneels in front of them, tears falling from her own eyes. “Take Aiden to my house."

“It’s getting cold.” Vesemir nods and turns to the younger man in his arms. “Remember you saying that Aiden hates the cold. Let’s take him to Triss’s house. He’ll be warm there.”

A portal, and Aiden is laid on a bedroll on the floor by the fire, stripped of all but his smallclothes while Vesemir gently cleans off the blood, sweat and dirt from his body. 

Lambert sits numbly, holding his husband’s hand. 

Triss uses magic to knit broken bones back together, repair torn muscles and heal the wound on the side of Aiden’s head. 

It’s like moulding clay when the body is... _empty_.

But no longer broken. Aiden is whole again. And clean. And warm next to the fire. 

And Lambert is holding his husband’s hand. 

“Can you keep his eyes green.” Lambert’s voice is hoarse.

“Of course.” She smiles, brushing her fingers over the closed lids. “They always will be.”

When they are finished, Lambert covers Aiden in a warm blanket, and he looks like he’s sleeping...sleeping, maybe he’s just sleeping. 

Lambert spent so many hours watching him sleep. Some nights he would watch for nightmares after a rough day. Other nights he would just enjoy seeing him rest.

Triss lights a candle on the shelf above him, and Lambert strokes Aiden’s hair. 

Wake up. 

Wake up.

Lambert takes Aiden’s medallion in his hand. 

Aiden is safe here. Triss and Vesemir will look after him. _Are_ looking after him. 

_I feel like family._

And Lambert runs. Turning to run through the door to the courtyard, and out into the streets of Novigrad.

“Lambert!”

He doesn’t respond to Vesemir’s voice, he runs. He runs. People part in the street, diving out of the way of the angry Witcher. He runs. He runs and he runs and he will keep running until he finds a world where Aiden isn’t dead and then he climbs to the balcony of the building in front of him. 

He smashes the window. 

It shocks him to reality for a second. Only a second. Then he feels the glass cuts in his hand. He feels a piece of the world that is as broken as he is. And it isn’t enough. He needs...

A chair. A table. He looks in a mirror and sees his amber eyes looking back. He kicks it, smashes it, claws at the remains with his hands. 

A cabinet flies down and draws fall out beneath it before being crushed. He falls beside it. Curls up on the floor.

He wishes he had fallen beneath it. 

He hears a crash, a scream in dwarvish. And then...

“Lambert?”

“One of yours?” 

“Zoltan...could you...could you step outside please.” 

Footsteps.

“Lambert?” Jaskier.

He feels a hand on his arm. Gentle. “Come on, lean against me.” Gentle. The arms help him up, pulling him into safety with Lambert’s head tucked in under Jaskier’s chin.

The bard begins to gently rock him. “I’ve got you.”

“Dandelion.” The dwarf is saying. “Need anything?”

“He um...he’s bleeding. His hands.”

Wake up.

Lambert looks down at his cut hands. He’s going to get blood on Aiden’s medallion. He blinks slowly, and feels lips against the top of his head. 

Wake up.

“You’re safe.” Jaskier whispers. “It’s safe here.”

He’s going to get blood on Aiden’s medallion. 

Wake up.

Wake up.

He knows he’s talking but he doesn’t know what he is saying.

Wake up.

“Going to need to take this off you for a moment, laddie.”

The medallion is gently taken from his hands, and Jaskier holds it against Lambert’s heart.

Safe.

The dwarf is tending to the physical wounds. 

“I loved him…” Lambert whispers. 

“I know.” Jaskier whispers.

“I’m going to kill them. The bastards that took him away. I’m going to tear them apart.”

“I know.” Jaskier says. “But not tonight. Stay with me, tonight.”

Lambert nods, and closes his eyes again. 

“I’ll look after you.” Jaskier whispers. “Just rest. I’ve got you.”

They sit in silence for a while, waiting for Zoltan to finish bandaging Lambert’s hands.

“Come on.” Jaskier and Zoltan get Lambert standing, helping him over to the bed in the room, which luckily survived the witcher’s outrage. The bard sits down and brings Lambert’s head into his lap, the witcher curling up on his side as Zoltan draws a blanket over him. 

“You’re safe with us, laddie. Grief’s a fucking sledgehammer, I know.”

Lambert blinks.

“Bert.” Jaskier strokes his face and arm, his hair. “Is this alright, me touching you like this. Just like this, nothing else.”

Lambert nods, and starts to sob.

“Shhh.” Jaskier soothes, continuing the gentle stroking motions, offering what tiny comfort he can as his friend falls apart in his lap, one hand wrapped around the medallion in his bandaged hands as he sobs.

“It’s okay to cry.” Jaskier says.

_It’s okay to cry_ . 1238 and the fresh scars on Lambert’s face sting. He lays in Aiden’s lap while he strokes his hair. _It’s okay to cry_.

Lambert starts to sit up, but Jaskier stops him. 

“Rest, Bert.”

“No...the pyre. Aiden wanted a pyre...at…”

"Don't be worrying about the funeral, laddie." Zoltan says.

“No.” Lambert tries to get off the bed, but his legs are useless. “He wanted a gown and...I have to...Aiden wanted…it has to be perfect. He deserves...”

“Lambert.” Jaskier says, firmly. “Lay down.”

“That’s all I can do for him.” Lambert says as he cries again, beyond what emotional pain he can stand.

He would sooner face the trials again than _this_ pain. He can’t anymore. He can’t. 

He can’t be strong anymore.

Zoltan opens the draw next to the bed, taking out the writing set that he knows Jaskier keeps there. 

“Tell me, Lambert.” Zoltan says, softly. “Tell me what the lad wanted?”

Lambert whispers, broken by sobs, and Zoltan patiently captures every word.

He reads the list back afterwards, the corner of his mouth turning up. Then he nods. 

“Ay, that’s doable.” He looks back at Lambert as the witcher lays back down. 

"Where's Aiden now?” Jaskier asks.

“Triss’s house.”

Zoltan nods, pulling the blanket back up over the Witcher’s shoulder. “I’ll head out there, grab me lads on the way.” His voice takes on a proud tone. “A fallen witcher gets the honour of a dwarf guard."

“He’d like that.” Jaskier says.

“And I’ll see Elihal about that gown.” Zoltan holds up the parchment, and looks at Lambert. "I’ll xenovox Chireadan about the sermon. I’ll see it right, laddie. I’ll see it right.”

He gives Lambert’s arm one last pat, then leaves to run his errands.

“Try to sleep, Bert.” Jaskier whispers. “He might not be here anymore, but he _is_ in your dreams.” 

And Lambert closes his eyes.

* * *

He lays on the bed, smiling as he watches Aiden explore his bedroom.

“A chess board?” Aiden picks up one of the pieces.

Lambert shrugs. “ Voltehre used to play.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t remember the rules.”

Aiden puts the chess piece back, and looks at the shelves. A small collection of notebooks. He picks one up.

“Don’t read those.” Lambert starts getting off the bed, but he is too slow.

“The Cad of Novigrad by Julian Alfred Pankratz.” He looks at Lambert in amused surprise. “The _Cad_ of _Novigrad_?”

“He was a kid when he wrote those plays, okay.”

Aiden looks at the other notebooks, then back at Lambert. “Did he give them to you?”

Lambert shakes his head. “I saw him throw them into the coal bin.”

“And you _rescued_ them.” Aiden smiles fondly, holding the book against his heart. “The _proud_ big brother.”

Lambert lays back on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Do you read them?”

Lambert doesn’t answer.

Aiden turns a few pages. “Your love. The reflection of the moon across the sea.” 

Lambert uncovers his eyes, sitting up. 

“A bridge of light to carry me.” Aiden is performing, free arm held in the air. “Held safely above the murky depths. As I travel home to your …” He lowers his arm. “Dot dot dot.”

“Like I said, he was a kid.” Lambert lays back down. “Probably couldn’t think of a rhyme for depths.”

Aiden walks in a circle, tapping his chin with the book. “Held safely above the murky depths… Held safely above the murky…” He points at Lambert with the book. “... _water_.” 

He lays on the bed next to Lambert. “Held safely above the murky water. As I travel home to your tender laughter.”

Lambert chuckles.

“You are my bridge.” Aiden continues reading. “You are my knight. You are my guide. You are my light. And this play, my love…” His voice drops to a whisper. “...is the story of our last night.”

* * *

Zoltan steps out of the Rosemary and Thyme, and finds another Witcher leant against the wall.

“He’s in there?” Vesemir asks.

The dwarf nods. 

“Does he want me up there?”

“Maybe.” Zoltan says. “I think Dandelion will.”

Vesemir nods, and enters the tavern.

* * *

They build the pyre in a field. A small group of dwarfs stand guard at the periphery.

Triss and Yennefer stand either side of the structure, each wearing a long gown. 

Dressed in a fine black tunic, Chireadan stands beside Yennefer, holding Aiden’s silver sword. 

Standing next to Triss is another elf, wearing a matching tunic and holding Aiden’s steel sword.

Zoltan stands to one side, his arms crossed as he watches. Next to him, Jaskier is holding Regis, the small elf boy distracted by a gwent card in his hands.

Vessemir stands next to Lambert, and nods. 

Chireadan returns the nod, and takes a breath.

“Vatt'ghern.” He says. 

“Witcher.” Vesemir whispers next to Lambert’s ear.

“Dearme aen a'caelme tedd.” Elihal says.

“Dream of calm times.”

“Aiden y Eysenlaan.” Elihal bows his head. “Aiden y Caths.” 

“Aiden of Eysenlaan.” Vesemir whispers. “Aiden of the Cats.”

Chireadan looks at Lambert. “Aiden y Bleidds.”

“Aiden of the Wolves.” Vesemir gently nudges Lambert, encouraging the younger witcher forward.

“Va fáill.” Chireadan places the silver sword beside Aiden on the pyre, and then steps back.

“Va fáill.” Elihal places the steel sword beside Aiden on the pyre, and then steps back.

Lambert rests his hand on the pyre, and looks at Aiden. 

He still looks like he’s sleeping, dressed in a large, beautiful silk gown, green decorated with a yellow sash.

_A grand funeral. My body dressed in a fine gown. Beautiful women lighting my pyre. And with an Elder sermon given by elves_

Lambert looks over his shoulder to where Zoltan is standing, and the dwarf nods.

And despite everything, Lambert smiles back.

He looks at everyone in turn, a grateful expression for each. Then he looks at Aiden’s face for the last time. 

"Va fáill.”

_Goodbye._

He steps back, and the sorceresses both raise their hands, lighting the pyre.

And Lambert closes his eyes.

* * *

At Kaer Morhen, they sit in Aiden’s room.

_Your love. The reflection of the moon across the sea. A bridge of light to carry me._

Lambert stops reading, swallowing as he brushes a finger against where some words have been crossed out, and a new line added in Aiden’s handwriting.

_Held safely above the murky water. As I travel home to your_ _tender laughter_.

Lambert chuckles, although it sounds more like a sob. Sitting beside him, Eskel rests a hand on the witcher’s shoulder. 

He reaches up, squeezing the fingers gently as he continues reading, ‘hearing’ the words in Aiden’s voice. 

_You are my bridge. You are my knight. You are my guide. You are my light. And this play, my love, is the story…_

_"_ Of our last night _."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left kudos/comments on the last chapter. I was in a pretty foul mood, and your comments made me smile. 
> 
> And now, as a reward, I have attempted to make you cry <3 <3


	14. The Medallion

**Toussaint, 1974**

Lambert leaves the front door ajar, giving his eyes a second to adjust to the night darkness before approaching the patio. 

Seeing the Witcher out of the corner of his eye, the boy turns to face him.

 _What are you doing, Regis?_ Lambert says with his hands. 

_Talking to Vesemir and Aiden._ The young half-elf points at the stars as Lambert kneels beside him. 

He nods, and taps Regis’s shoulder to make the boy look at him again. _They’re in the stars?_

_Father told me._

“Yeah?” Lambert nods. _Bet Vesemir’s making Aiden do sword drills up there._

The boy laughs. 

“Come on. Bedtime, Elf-Regis.” He picks Regis up, holding him against his hip as he turns back to the house, looking up to see Yennefer watching through one of the upstairs windows. 

She smiles, nods, and closes the curtain.

Feeling a tapping sensation against his chest, he looks down to see Regis tracing the wolf shape on Lambert’s medallion with his finger.

Stopping, Lambert reaches into his pocket, carefully pulling out another medallion and holding it up. With a smile of thanks Regis takes it into his hands, finger now tracing the cat shape with the same reverence as he had shown Lambert’s medallion as the witcher carries him inside.

* * *

**Novigrad, 1272**

The morning after the funeral, Lambert wakes up with an arm around him. 

His expression hollow, he slowly turns over.

_Good morning._

_What’s good about it?_

_Well, I’ve woken up next to you._

_Sap._

Jaskier is fast asleep, but starts to stir when Lambert moves, yawning and opening his eyes. 

He looks at the witcher and smiles. “Hey.”

They both still smell of smoke from the pyre.

The pyre, Aiden, the…

“Shhh.” Jaskier still has that gentle smile on his face, a gentle hand on Lambert’s arm. A gentle glow to his eyes. “We don’t have any plans today. We can just stay here. Hide from the world.”

Any minute now Aiden is going to walk in, make some quip about Lambert sharing the bed with Master Pankratz. Say that he might join them in said bed. 

Jaskier will laugh and play along with the joke. And Lambert will pretend to be annoyed.

The pyre. 

Aiden. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Lambert’s breath hitches. 

“Shhh.” Jaskier whispers. “Close your eyes.”

Lambert does so, and he feels Jaskier climb off of the bed. 

“How’d he sleep?”

“He was exhausted, poor thing.”

“Ay. Big day for him.” Zoltan says. “Look, Dandelion. Geralt’s downstairs. Found out from Yen. He wants to see the laddie. What do I tell him?”

Jaskier sighs, and Lambert hears gentle footsteps against the floor.

“Bert. Geralt is here to see you. Do you want to see him?” 

Why would Geralt want to see Lambert? Did something happen?

“It’s okay if you say no. When I thought Triss was dead, I had days when I just wanted to be alone. But seeing a friendly face might be comforting.” Jaskier smiles.

Lambert turns his face into the pillow.

Maybe Aiden is downstairs, halfway into his upteenth attempt to win one of Geralt’s unique cards.

_Ah but you’re going to taste defeat today. I have added some new cards to my deck._

_Hmmm._

_Lambert, come and watch me make history._

Lambert shakes his head, and Jaskier nods. “Zoltan, I’ll go talk to Geralt. Can you sit with Lambert for a moment?”

“Ay, I can do that.”

“I’ll be right back.” Jaskier whispers, leaning down to kiss Lambert on the temple before stepping away from the bed. 

Lambert hears water being poured into a mug.

“Sit up, Laddie.” The dwarf says. “Let's get you on the outside of this.” 

_If I wanted to harm you I would hardly need to resort to poison now, would I? Drink up._

Lambert doesn’t move. 

_Well we are a stubborn little wolf aren’t we._

“Ay, well, I’ll leave it there.” He places the mug on the bedside table. “You grab it when you want it.”

Lambert can hear voices downstairs. 

“Look, I get you wanting to be alone, Laddie. But I promised Dandelion I’d keep an eye out, so I’m just going to park myself over by the door, but you can pretend I’m not there. You drink the water if you can.”

_I’m not going to hurt you. Nor will I expect anything from you that you don’t want to give._

Lambert listens to the footsteps cross the room, and slowly turns over in the bed, propping himself up on his elbow as he reaches for the mug. He takes a sip. Another sip. A third. Then puts the mug back.

Aiden’s medallion is on the bedside table. 

Why isn’t Aiden wearing it? Oh, the chain is broken. They should repair it. 

He lays down.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, Laddie. Are you hungry?”

“No. The...everything yesterday was perfect. Thank you.”

Yesterday.

The pyre. 

Aiden.

“Promised you I’d see it right.” Zoltan is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his demeanour relaxed.

He doesn’t speak again, waiting for Lambert to initiate any conversation if he chooses to.

Lambert closes his eyes, and wonders how Aiden is getting on downstairs. 

_He cheats. He must cheat. NO ONE is_ that _good at Gwent._

_Geralt is._

But Aiden isn’t downstairs. Because Aiden...left. 

* * *

The medallion burns in Lambert’s hand as he walks, bare feet barely feeling the dirt and stones on the ground beneath them. 

With his witcher senses, he can see the faint blood stains on the ground, the way the body was dragged along the stone, and thrown over the cliff. 

He kneels.

“This is shit?” His teeth are gritted. “We were going to die in our bed, Aiden. We were going to beat the odds. Die like humans, not witchers.” He shakes his head. “But no, you go and die at the bottom of a stupid cliff, covered in blood and I...what if I hadn’t found you? You’d be a wraith now, you know? You might still be.”

The medallion burns in his hand.

“And then you say you’re glad I wasn’t there. That I’m not dying too. You selfish bastard. This is _worse_ that dying, Aiden. You took the easier path...because you're not the one left behind. You took a part of me with you, and it hurts. It _hurts_. I hate you.” He shakes his head. 

He can hear footsteps behind him. 

“You hear me, Aiden? I HATE YOU. You _idiot_. Why’d you let them do that to you. Why didn’t you fight harder? Why didn’t you hold on? Why wasn’t I with you?”

The medallion burns in his hand.

“Why did you leave me behind? You didn’t deserve to die like that. In pain. Why did you leave?”

The medallion burns his hand. 

Footsteps behind him.

“On the path, we look after each other. You’re _supposed_ to be there with me. I’m _supposed_ to be there with _you_. You WHORESON.”

And he throws the medallion as far as he can.

Then, Lambert reaches for the ring on his finger, and stops...

_You said Life Partner_

_Yeah. Yeah, I did_

Lambert falls to the ground, looking over the cliff edge in the direction that he threw the medallion. At the waves below. 

“No...No...No…”

_They symbolise commitment and devotion_

And the world seems to...fade. Darken. Soften. And Lambert retreats _._

He doesn’t hear Vesemir calling his name. He doesn’t hear anything anymore. Doesn’t feel the arms lift him off of the ground.

This world is a world where Aiden is dead. The world where his medallion was thrown to the sea like worthless junk.

By Lambert.

Aiden is dead.

Lambert loves him. 

Aiden is dead.

Lambert lost the medallion. 

* * *

Wake up. 

* * *

Geralt is silent as he carries the catatonic witcher up to the top floor of the Rosemary and Thyme, waiting for Jaskier to pull back the blankets before sitting Lambert on the bed.

Vesemir spends some time cleaning the worst of the dirt on Lambert’s feet. When that is done, he encourages the younger witcher onto his side in the bed before tucking him in gently. 

“Hmm.” Geralt uncrosses his arms, and makes his way to the door. 

“Wolf?”

Vesemir is ignored, and Jaskier shakes his head as he runs to the stairs.

“ _Lambert_ can’t walk away from this?” He shouts at the retreating Witcher’s back. “We shouldn’t either.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything as the tavern door closes behind him.

Letting his anger out in a swift kick to the wall, Jaskier climbs back up the stairs. 

Vesemir is stroking Lambert’s hair, whispering to him. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier is saying. “He snuck out while I was asleep, I should have been...”

“This isn’t your fault, Julian.” Vesemir says, his gaze and smile aimed at the youngest witcher. Lambert is neither asleep nor awake, just staring into a seeming void, the fingers on his hand twitching.

“The things he was saying…”

“You have to remember, my boy. Lambert and Aiden were together for over forty years, almost as long as you’ve been _alive_. The grief and anger that he is feeling will be overwhelming. And...and the guilt as well.”

“Oh, Lambert.” Jaskier’s voice breaks as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"We are here for him."

"Not all of us."

"Triss thinks that Eskel is in Skellige. She trying to contact him. She is contacting Dyn Marv as well."

“And Geralt?”

When he looks back, it is to see that Vesemir is smiling. 

“Where do you think he has gone, Julian?”

* * *

When Elihal opens the door to his tailor shop, it is to find a pissed off Geralt of Rivia standing on the step, water dripping from every part of him.

“Geralt.” He flinches slightly as the smell coming off of the witcher. “Drowner hunting in the Pontar again?”

Geralt shakes his head, and holds up a medallion. 

“Cat school.” Elihal holds out his hand, accepting the medallion. “Aiden’s, I assume? What happened?” 

“An angry Witcher and the Great Sea.” Geralt humms. “Can you repair it?”

“It will need a wash and tarnish at _least_.” Elihal studies the broken chain. “I can’t promise that the chain will be as strong as it was before.”

“Do what you can.”

“Come back in an hour.” Elihal turns into his shop.

“How much will I owe you?”

Elihal waves at him dismissively. “Use your coin at the bathhouse. I _insist_.”

Geralt gives him a confused look, before taking a deep breath from the air around him and grimacing.

“Do tell Happen I said hello.”

* * *

“Do you know what I believe?”

They’ve moved one of the long chairs out onto the balcony, Lambert’s resting a cup of ribleaf tea in his lap while looking out over the Novigrad rooftops.

“Well, it’s science.” Jaskier says as he sips his own tea. “Energy and magic are at a constant in our universe. The amount of it never goes up or down. It’s never created or destroyed. It is just a flow from one place to the next. So, if _we_ are energy and magic, our thoughts, our dreams, our souls, then scientifically we are not lost when we die. We just...rejoin the flow.”

He turns, and rests a hand over Lambert’s chest. 

“So, when Aiden died, his energy had to go somewhere. And you were holding his hand. So maybe a part of Aiden is in there now.” He pats the area over Lambert’s heart. “And he will always be with you.”

“But I feel empty?”

Jaskier’s face falls, and he leans over to kiss Lambert’s hair.

There the first words his friend has said in over an hour.

"Maybe you just haven’t figured out how to hear him yet.” Jaskier smiles, wishing that he could think of a better way to help his friend with the pain he is in. 

The door to the balcony opens and closes, and Geralt kneels down next to the chair, holding up...oh.

Jaskier sees Lambert’s painful flinch, hears the air catching in his lungs. A shaky hand reaches out for the medallion, running a finger along the repaired chain and disk, as if using touch to make sure it isn’t an illusion.

“Geralt…” The bard whispers the name. 

Geralt puts the medallion around Lambert’s neck, pats Jaskier’s shoulder, and then leaves.

* * *

_I do believe, Geralt, that the wager was your unique card. Thank you. Hello my dear. I have to show you to everyone I have ever met. Shan’t be long. Lambert, mock him for me while I’m gone._

_Thanks Geralt._

_For what, Lambert?_

_You know._

_Hmm_

* * *

"Would you have looked after him?"

"Hmm?" Vesemir, who had been lost in thoughts as he sat next to the bed, looks at Lambert.

"If I'd died, would you have looked after Aiden?"

"Of course, my boy."

"How?"

Vesemir smiles, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "Do you want me to tell you, or show you?"

Lambert answers by biting his lip, closing his eyes against tears (how can he still have tears to cry) and falling limp as Vesemir pulls him up, leaning the younger Witcher's face against his shoulder, and holding him in strong arms.

_Do you think he'd adopt me if I asked?_

Vesemir makes the embrace as tight as he can, his own heart breaking as he considers how much pain Lambert must be in to let himself cry in front of the older man, much less let him hold him like this.

“I shouldn’t have kept him away from Kaer Morhen for so long. I…”

Vesemir gently tilts him back. “You were worried about losing him.”

“That was part of it. But…” Lambert shakes his head. “I think...I wanted him to just be mine.”

Vesemir nods.

“I’m selfish.”

“It’s not selfish to want to protect something special to us, Lambert.”

“But he only got Six winters. Six winters at Kaer Morhen.”

“And I think he cherished every second of them. But not because he was at Kaer Morhen.”

Lambert looks up, and Vesemir smiles again.

“Because he was finally spending his winters with you.”

Lambert sobs brokenly as Vesemir pulls him back into the embrace, whispering to him, and he feels the three separate medallions against his chest.

Two wolves, one cat. 

One family.

* * *

_Do you think he'd adopt me if I asked?_

_Yes._

* * *

**Toussaint, 1974**

Lambert quickly tucks the boy into his bed, checking the candle on the bedside table before turning back to see that Regis is still studying the medallion in his hand. 

The witcher swallows, nods to himself, and moves into Regis’s line of sight as he looks up. 

_Your mother told me you’re going to be a witcher._

The boy nods.

“Well then, I think Aiden would want you to have this.”

_Lambert finds Aiden curled up on his side on his own bed, in his own room, with an infant on the pillow beside him._

_A pencil has been wedged into the carved pattern of the headboard, and dangling from it, just out of reach of the baby, is a cat school medallion._

_The little half-elf boy is fascinated, reaching up at the medallion and gurgling as it gently spins above him._

Lambert takes the medallion, studying it closely before carefully putting the chain over the boy’s head, letting the medallion lay on his chest. 

“There.” Lambert waits for Regis to look back at him, then says. _Now you’re a proper Witcher._

The boy smiles. _Thank you._

“You’re welcome, kid.”

Sitting up, Regis reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Lambert’s neck, and the witcher hugs him back tightly.

“Look after that medallion.” Regis can’t hear him, but it isn’t _really_ the boy that Lambert is talking to. “On the path. You look after his medallion. And he’ll look after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reads/kudos/comments/bookmarks <3 <3
> 
> Also, apologies for anyone who read this in the first fifteen minutes of posting, with the REALLY bad spelling error that I managed to miss!!!


	15. Vesemir

**Kaer Morhen, 1272**

Eskel finds Lambert in the training yard, taking out his anger on a dummy. 

He waits until his brother is calmer, then sighs. “How you holding up?”

“You know I hate questions like that.”

“That’s why I ask them?”

Lambert smiles, and spins his sword in his hand before reseathing it. “I went to his room this morning. I...it’s just still a habit when I wake up alone here. It means he spent the night in _his_ room. He liked that, having his _own_ room for the first time.”

Lambert sits down on the wall, and looks at the floor. 

“Make it a tradition.” Eskel says, shrugging. “Like a way of keeping him alive here. Go visit him each morning.”

Lambert looks down. “Yeah.”

Eskel waits, then says. “Did you ever...you know...sleep in his room?”

“Sometimes.”

The next day, Lambert wakes up in Aiden’s room, and opens his eyes to find it exactly how Aiden left it. 

“Good morning.” He says. 

* * *

**Novigrad, 1273**

They all set out on the path together, reaching Novigrad and asking around. 

When Jad Karadin finds himself facing the four witchers of the wolf school, he tries to claim reformation. Then he explains why Aiden died, and simply begs for his life. 

Lambert and Geralt make the killing blow between them, and Vesemir and Eskel burn the body with igni. Afterwards, Geralt and Vesemir leave for Willoughby, to meet Yennefer there. 

Eskel accompanies Lambert, and they take contracts together until they are summoned back to Kaer Morhen.

* * *

**Toussaint, 1274**

Lambert takes a breath before stepping into his room, smiling as he sees Keira asleep in the bed. 

Removing his clothes, he slides in next to her and lays on his side, brushing some hair from Keira’s face and gently combing his fingers through it at an angle that lets it fall behind her naked shoulder.

“I love you.” He whispers, smiling. 

“Well, of course you do, darling.” Keira says, her eyes still closed. “I’m extraordinary.”

Lambert chuckles.

Keira opens her eyes, and reaches out to touch his face. “And so is my partner.”

Lambert doesn’t shy away from the praise, having learned long ago how to accept it. Instead he reaches across the gap, kissing Keira deeply while stroking his hand down her body. 

The love making that follows is gentle, as much about comfort and tenderness as it is about passion and pleasure, and afterwards she lays against his chest, drawing idle circles on his skin.

Lambert reaches down for the hand, picking it up to kiss the back of the fingers before reaching out to extinguish the candle.

“I love you too.” Keira says in the darkness, running one more ring around his heart. “You will always have a chamber in my heart.”

Lambert smiles, and kisses her head. “Anyone in the others.” 

In the darkness, his witcher senses allow him to see the smile fall from Keira’s face, and she sighs against his chest. 

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” She swallows. “There was one. His name was…”

Lambert wraps his arms around her, and listens.

* * *

Lambert’s heart has four chambers.

One for Aiden. 

One for Keira.

The third chamber is for his family and friends. 

And the fourth Chamber is for...

* * *

**Cintra, 1300**

Faced against two witchers, a sorceress and a vampire, the necrophages fall quickly, Keira lifting three into the air and then dropping them from the great height, before burning them. The others Geralt and Emiel Regis cut down.

Last to die is a grave hag, Lambert holding it in place with Yrden before slicing it in two. 

And just like that, the area is free again.

“Thank you my friends.” Emiel Regis turns to face the witchers, sighing as his vampiric features settle into a more human appearance. “Those necrophages were proving to be quite the nuisance for the nearby towns.”

Keira bows her head “Well, we _were_ in the area.”

Regis bows, taking her hand and kissing it. Then his expression hardens. “Do you hear that?”

Geralt nods, closing his eyes to focus on his hearing

Lambert is already ahead of him, pulling aside some overgrown moss to uncover a cave entrance. The inside stinks with damp and blood, rotting flesh. Definitely a necrophage nest. 

But the sound is not a necrophage. 

Quite the opposite.

“Melitele…” Keira covers her mouth with her hands as Lambert kneels beside the corpses, the man’s back a mass of torn skin and blood, the woman’s throat ripped open and her arms protecting not her face, but what is held against her chest. 

The baby cries again as Lambert lifts her, quickly studying her for injuries before standing, holding her in his arms. “Hey, shhhhh.”

She continues to cry, but she also looks at him, her blue eyes locking onto his amber ones. 

“The poor child.” Emiel Regis shakes his head. “The parent’s died protecting her.”

Geralt nods, and Keira steps forward, looking from Lambert to the baby. 

* * *

The tavern owner looks up as the strange party walks in.

The woman immediately approaches, a witcher standing behind her with an infant in his arms.

“Sir?” She asks. “Have any healthy women in the town or nearby recently given birth?” 

“Ay, Eliza, the baker’s wife. She’s on the east side of the town. Good, strong lass she is. Illnesses don’t touch her.” 

“Thank you.” And the woman is gone, the witcher following her with the baby. 

* * *

“Here she is, all fed.” Eliza steps out of her bedroom, Keira following and watching with a smile as Eliza gives the child back to Lambert. “She’ll need feeding again tomorrow. Come by first thing.”

“Thank you.” Lambert reaches for his coin purse.

“Oh don’t. I’m making plenty more than my little one needs. And she is a delight. She’s going to be a stunning little red head when she grows up. Have you two thought of a name?”

Lambert looks at Keira. 

* * *

When Geralt returns to the tavern room sometime later, Keira stands, leaving Lambert on the bed. 

“Geralt.” Keira smiles. “Before you ask, yes, Vesemir is fine. We’ll need to stay in this town until she is weaned, but I have enough coin to cover the room.” 

Geralt nods. “Vesemir?”

“Vesemir Metz.” Keira smiles, fondly. “Lambert chose it.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “It’s a girl?”

“Yes.”

The Witcher laughs under his breath. “It’s a good name.”

They both turn to watch Lambert, who is oblivious to anything except the baby in his arms. Amber eyes lock onto blue ones, and neither looks away from the other.

“You alright with this?” Geralt says. “No offense, but you don’t strike me as the maternal type.”

“You seem to think I have a choice.” Keira laughs, and then sighs as she looks at Geralt. “Do you want to separate them?”

Lambert is holding baby Vesemir Metz and nothing else matters to him.

Geralt chuckles.

“And yes.” Keira says. “I _am_ alright with this.”

* * *

Lambert’s heart has four chambers. 

One for Aiden. 

One for Keira.

One for Lambert’s family and friends.

And the fourth chamber is for his daughter.

* * *

**Kaer Morhen, 1310**

The children go one at a time. 

First they must climb over a wall, rolling down the net on the other side. Then a blindfold is placed, and they fight the pendulums, pirouetting around three. They remove the blindfold before finally, with Eskel and Elf-Regis on standby, fighting and killing a drowner by themselves.

They reach the end of the course, and drink from the flask that Ciri gives them. It’s harmless, a ribleaf juice, but it is symbolic enough of the trial of the grasses to have both Eskel and Lambert looking down. 

After the trial, each child is given their medallion to take to their proud parents, families cheering and congratulating as they hug their children. 

A red haired girl runs the course, killing the drowner with ease and then stopping in front of Ciri, her smile making her face glow as Ciri congratulates her, and gives her the flask to drink from. 

She takes a gulp, before wiping her mouth with her arm. 

“I told her not to do that.” Keira says under her breath, and Lambert laughs.

He watches as Ciri looks at Elf-Regis, who slowly nods. 

What?

Ciri smiles, and reaches not for the medallions on the table beside her, but for one in her pocket, whispering something to the girl before putting it around her neck.

The girl nods, and runs back to her parents. 

“You were amazing, Miri.” Keira says as she rests a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Look.” Miri holds up the medallion. “Mine has a cat on it.”

“Yeah.” Lambert nods. “That’s a special medallion, Miri. You need to look after it.”

“I will.” Miri looks at her parents. “Why is it special, Father?”

* * *

**Ellander, 1329**

They lay on a blanket on the ground, looking up at the sky.

“I was your age.” Lambert looks at the young woman laying beside him. “Didn’t know how young I was back then.”

Miri laughs.

Laying on Lambert’s other side, Keira turns to face them. “Well, you’re _both_ young compared to me.”

The family lay side by side for an hour, sharing stories old and new, and enjoying the peace of the clearing. The campsite where, one hundred years ago, Lambert had opened his eyes and met Aiden.

He sits up, turning to look at Keira. “Thanks for coming with me today.” 

Lambert and Keira kiss, and Miri sighs.

“Leaving the love birds alone now.” She stands, picking up her silver sword and reattaching the scabbard to her back.

Keira smiles. “Somewhere to be, Miri?”

The young woman taps her cat medallion. “Hanza picked up a big griffin contract on the other side of the forest. I said I’d check it out with them.”

“Ah.” Lambert leans over to speak against Keira’s ear. “She wants to spend time with her friends instead of her parents.”

Miri laughs.

Keira stands, taking off her ring and slowly putting it on Miri’s finger. 

“Bring that back to me. And…” She places a small pellet in her daughter’s hand. “Crack the casing, and throw. Fire will fall where it lands, so don’t throw it at your own feet.”

“I won’t.” Miri bows her head. “Love you both.” 

“We love you, too.” Keira says.

Lambert nods. “Stay safe on the path, Witcher.”

She smiles, and turns to walk into the forest.

“And Vesemir.” Lambert calls after her. “Don’t forget to…”

She turns to walk backwards. “...take notes for Jaskier.” And gives a thumbs up.

Keira and Lambert smile fondly as they watch their daughter leave, then work together to pack up the small camp, folding the blanket and placing it back in its bag.

Lambert adjusts his seat on the ground, and his fingers brush against...he picks it up. 

He is silent as he holds it. 

It could have fallen from a pocket. Been left behind during one of their many camps. Sat for years.

But Keira knows what she believes. 

She kisses Lambert’s cheek, and whispers. “I’ll wait for you on the road.” Before leaving. 

Now alone in the clearing, Lambert looks from the green bead in his hand to the sky.

“One hundred years.” 

The witcher closes his eyes. 

“Happy Anniversary.”

And for a moment, just a moment, he thinks that he can feel a hand gently cupping the side of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING.


End file.
